Baxter ushered him to the rear of the vehicle and told him to wait. Baxter got in his cruiser and called in the information. He watched the man as he waited for the results. The truth is always in the details. The man stood there, arms folded. His body language was fairly benign, but his eyes told another story. He kept looking at the trunk and looking back at Baxter. Baxter called it in and asked to have the county Sheriff’s K-9 unit on standby for backup. The guy could have easily been moving drugs this late at night.

Baxter decided to write him a warning for the taillight. He was more interested in what the guy was so nervous about. After he finished writing, he approached the man cautiously.

“Mr. Jenkins,” Baxter said, reading the man’s license, “I’m going to issue you a warning for your busted tail light. You’re going to need to get that fixed as soon as possible.”

The man didn’t look at Baxter. His gaze was now shifting between the trunk and the asphalt.

“Is there something wrong, Mr. Jenkins?” Baxter asked.

“No,” the man mumbled, still staring at the ground.

“Where are you headed tonight?”

The man mumbled something unintelligible.

“I’m sorry?” Baxter asked.

The man repeated himself.

“Sir, have you been drinking?” Baxter asked. He had already been watching him for signs of alcohol use. He didn’t have it on his breath, and his motor skills and eyes did not seem to indicate alcohol use.

The man’s eyes widened as he looked up at Baxter. “No, no, no, no, no sir!”

“Do I have your permission to search your vehicle?”

The man stood there, staring at Baxter like a deer caught in headlights. The man glanced back at Baxter one last time. Baxter instantly recognized what was about to happen. The man felt cornered, and his fight or flight instinct had just kicked in. The man took off running toward the nearby field. Baxter gave chase as he radioed in for backup.

The man may have looked ten years older than he was, but he ran like a man twenty years younger. Weighted down by his vest and gear, it took Baxter longer than he would later admit to catch the man thirty years his senior, but within seconds, he had the man pinned to the ground and cuffed.

“Why are you running, Mr. Jenkins?” Baxter asked as held the man down.

“They’re so beautiful, but I could only keep one,” the man said as he started sobbing.

“Who’s beautiful? What are you talking about?” Baxter demanded as he pulled the man to his feet out of the field.

“She’s my little angel,” the man said between sobs.

“Who is?” Baxter shoved the man toward his cruiser. Once they reached the rear quarter panel, he searched him for weapons or drugs, pulling out a knife, some zip ties, and a key to a padlock. He opened the rear door of his cruiser and put the man inside. He was crying uncontrollably now.