She screamed when she saw the cruiser, sharp and panicked, pointing at the direction the suspect ran towards. “Police!” I shouted, already moving. The suspect bolted, but not fast enough. He clipped a trash can, stumbled, and that half-second was all I needed. He went down hard, face-first on the sidewalk.
I had him cuffed before he could say much of anything. As I hauled him up, his face caught the streetlight—sweat-slicked, wild-eyed, jaw clenched like an animal cornered too late. I didn’t recognize him, not from the board at the station or any of the grainy stills we’d been circulating, but that didn’t mean much.