'Looking into the eyes of a dead man': Witness recalls end of manhunt | wife, home, arrived - News - The News Herald
By CHICK HUETTEL
By CHICK HUETTEL
On Sunday, when my wife and I arrived home from church, we heard yelling:
“Get down! Get down or we will shoot!”
It was the voices of deputies.
It was happening all over again within three days. So I pushed my wife inside the house, put on my old police revolver and waited outside.
Then came a gunshot.
The hunted fugitive had been spending his evenings hidden somewhere near our home but unable to move because of the alert from the sheriff’s department. The next day, neighbors were complaining the sheriff moved the search cars and teams out of the vicinity too fast. Yet, unknown to our residents, the officers lay hidden about the area.
I waited awhile, then squad cars came zooming past. One stopped for me as I stood in the road. I recognized him. His words were powerful:
“It’s all over.”
Matheos Pitikas, age 24, had been sighted a block from our home on the move by a deputy and then some residents. He had been holed up deep in the woods or in a shed.
The one shot was heard when he was cornered by a dog and approaching officers. Pitikas had one bullet left in his automatic, and that bullet was destined for his head. Read 'Surrounded, fugitive kills self in Walton' ?
Gerald Wynn and his wife, neighbors of mine down the street, saw him in their yard. Sondra was out on the porch and yelled, “There he is!”
Matheos, with no shirt and only shorts, was ripped to pieces by the scrub brushes he had been trying to use for cover during his desperate days. His flesh had been torn by brambles and stinging palmettos, plus the agony of being barefooted, and he was now facing doom. Desperately he was trying to work his way along a fence line. The horror of surviving with no shoes, later on, went even deeper into my psyche.
But his suffering was for naught. The forces were closing in.
And there, behind a tin outbuilding, surrounded, his mind must have spun beyond our capacity: All was lost.
Perhaps his reasoning, according to an officer on scene, was that he was not sure if he had killed a deputy in the vehicle pursuit or while firing at them when his truck came crashing in a field off Bay Drive.
Why, he probably wondered, was his life to end someplace he never envisioned, somewhere foreign and in circumstances beyond his imagination? Was it better to end everything quickly, rather than be captured and wait for the day for the State of Florida to inject a needle into his arm - the most likely penalty if he killed someone in his wild shooting spree?
It must have seemed hopeless.
Hearing the lawmen’s voices and the wail of sirens, exhausted from dehydration and chewed alive from insects and uncaring thorns, the bank robber placed the 9 millimeter automatic to his head.
He had one bullet left.
Matheos probably said some words that were special to himself, and pulled the trigger.
That “bang” was what my wife and I heard. The ending of a life.
It was over. Our neighborhood was back to some quiet. No, not normal. It would not be normal for years to come. The fragility of hideous danger, ultimately the death of a stranger who had come crashing into our hamlet would no doubt haunt us.
Pitikas decided his fate. Thankfully, a different outcome that could have ruined the lives of our deputies and their families was averted. His reckless and uncaring shooting at officers and possibly striking an unknowing Walton resident was his survival mentality.
Matheos had a violent past, but he had one redeeming value. He never burst into a home and took hostages in our neighborhood. Perhaps he knew we had been so alerted that had he tried to enter a home, he would have met a person determined to defend his or her family. That we will never know.
I talked to our sheriff after the encounter on the road. He was not happy about the outcome. He had hoped for an apprehension.
“Chick, a life lost, no matter the situation, is horrific. He was so young… what a waste. We have to thank God for the safety of these people in the neighborhood. I know I will at church next time,” he told me afterwards.
I stood there near the metal death shed. I was relieved, but so wrapped up in emotion because of the gruesome days. Being shot at, meeting the suspect face to face, having my pistol on my side and next to my bed, wondering whenever I opened a door to my tool room, studio or car, even what awaited me around the corner of my house all wore on me.
I greeted the other officers whom I had the privilege to meet during those horrendous days. What great men, but they, too, were quiet. It was no time for celebration.
I walked back home down our sand road, behind me were flashing lights and squawking radios from the squad cars. I wanted to be alone. I can say honestly I downed three beers quickly as I sat on my porch overlooking the bay.
I had experienced this stuff while on Memphis Police Department, but it made no difference.
It never makes any difference.
You never can lose the feeling of encountering a violent event.
I was hot and sweaty wet. A slow-moving barge went by and two sparrows bathed in the birdbath. I went deep inside myself. The men on the barge never knew of the events and the small birds splashing seemed even less caring.
I found myself praying and giving thanks for the safety of our officers, my neighbors, and yes, even for Matheos Pitikas.
What events in his short life led me to meeting him but hours before one never knows, yet when we looked at each other, I never knew I was looking into the eyes of a dead man.