Columbus SWAT Shootout: Officer Fires During Foot Chase of Murder Suspect
It began as a routine contact that escalated with dizzying speed. Officers approached a vehicle in a residential neighborhood after a tip suggested someone inside might be armed. What followed — recorded on bodycams and radio — compresses into a handful of minutes: commands shouted, a tense foot pursuit, a Taser deployed, and then gunfire that ended the chase and sent the scene spinning into emergency response.
Officers had asked occupants to step out, attempting to keep the encounter controlled and brief. Instead, one person ran. The sequence that follows in the audio is taut with urgency: footsteps on pavement, officers calling pursuit, an announced Taser deployment, and the rapid decision to close distance. Foot pursuits place officers at a disadvantage: visibility narrows, focus tunnels, and seconds feel both eternal and impossibly short.
The situation pivoted sharply when the radio cut through with the single, chilling phrase: “Shots fired.” That moment transformed the tactical landscape. What had been an attempt to detain became an active use-of-force incident. Officers who had been directing and chasing were suddenly tasked with neutralizing a perceived imminent threat and then providing immediate medical care for wounds sustained in the exchange.
It is essential to separate the recorded facts from the questions that emerge afterward. The audio shows commands and commands met, a Taser used, and gunfire heard. It does not, by itself, reveal intent, prior events, or the precise moments that led a shooter to fire. Those gaps are where investigators and supervisors will concentrate as they reconstruct the encounter. They will review camera angles, interview officers and witnesses, and determine whether the actions aligned with policy and legal standards.
In the immediate aftermath, the recorded voices show a different cadence: urgent but focused, shifting from containment to care. Officers moved quickly to secure the suspect and then to render aid. “Where you hit at?” a rescuer asks; medics are called. Hands that had been on firearms now work to stabilize a wounded person, to remove clothing, to stop bleeding. That transition — from the violence of engagement to the tenderness of lifesaving — is a stark and humanizing element of these moments.
The atmosphere in the neighborhood after the event is different than it had been before. Residents wake to the notion that a routine evening can erupt into trauma. For witnesses, the flash of blue lights and the echo of gunfire become memories that linger. For officers, the instant calculus of perceived threat and response replay in private thoughts for days or years. Departments review policy, seek clarity, and sometimes change training in light of what the footage shows.
Accountability and transparency follow. Supervisors will carefully analyze whether commands were clear, whether a Taser deployment was appropriate, whether the decision to use lethal force met the threshold of imminent danger, and whether opportunities existed to de-escalate. That analysis is often painstaking: frame-by-frame reviews, synchronized audio and video, and comparisons with departmental policy. The public and family members will await answers, and the judicial system may also become involved.
Beyond policy and process, there is a human story. The wounded suspect, the officers who fired, the neighbors who watched — each will carry forward a different consequence. A life may be curtailed, a career altered, or a community shaken. Support services, counseling, and debriefs become necessary aspects of recovery. For many involved, the incident does not end when cameras stop rolling; it echoes in hearings, litigation, and personal memory.
Bodycam footage and radio logs are invaluable precisely because they capture what happened without human memory’s blur. Still, they are not a full explanation: they show the “what” but not always the “why.” Investigations aim to synthesize those recordings with testimony and context to reach a fuller picture. Only after careful review can judgments about policy compliance and legal justification be responsibly made.
This encounter is a reminder of the knife-edge on which policing can operate. Routine stops may escalate unexpectedly. Officers must balance public safety with restraint, choosing tactics that minimize harm while still protecting themselves and the community. The recorded minutes in this case provide material for that review — both evidence and a lesson. Communities and agencies will learn from the recording.
21 Years Together — But the Lie Detector Exposed Everything!
For over two decades, Lashaundra Woodard believed she had built a life with the man she loved. Kenneth Bynum wasn’t just her partner — he was the boy from around the way, her teenage sweetheart, the father of her four children, and the man she hoped would one day become her husband. But in
They met as kids — she was thirteen, he was fifteen. Their first kiss was innocent, their dreams simple: grow up together, raise a family, build a future. By the time Lashaundra turned fifteen, she was already a mother. Life became a cycle of diapers, school lunches, and bills. She put her own dreams aside to raise the children they made together. Kenneth promised her forever, but forever slowly began to crumble.
For years, small cracks appeared in their relationship — unexplained absences, phone calls he took outside, business trips that never made sense. Still, Lashaundra held on. That is, until one day in 2019, a letter arrived in the mail. It wasn’t from a friend or a family member. It was from another woman, claiming she had been sleeping with Kenneth — and that they had a child together.
When Lashaundra confronted him, Kenneth denied everything. He didn’t know the woman. She was lying. End of story. Lashaundra wanted to believe him — needed to believe him. But two weeks later, the sheriff knocked on her door with a paternity summons. Kenneth took a DNA test. The results were clear: it was his baby.
The betrayal was more than infidelity; it was a complete shattering of trust. Lashaundra’s heart broke not just for herself, but for their children, for the family she thought she knew. Still, Kenneth apologized. He said it was a one-time mistake. He even tried to propose, hoping marriage would erase his sin. But Lashaundra refused. “You’re only asking because you feel guilty,” she said. And from that moment, everything got worse.
Kenneth’s lies multiplied. He claimed he was at work when his car was spotted parked outside another woman’s house. He went on supposed “business trips” only to be found at the local grocery store. He swore he was innocent, that it was all coincidence, that she just didn’t trust him anymore. But the evidence — and his nervous laughter — told another story.
Finally, after 21 years together, Lashaundra wanted the truth. Not excuses, not tears — the truth. She demanded a polygraph test. Kenneth agreed, confident he would clear his name. But when the polygraph expert, Mr. Yarborough, revealed the results in court, the air went still.
“At the time of your business trip, did you have sexual contact with anyone?”
Kenneth answered, “No.”
The result: Deception indicated.
Lashaundra gasped, tears streaming down her face. The judge looked at Kenneth, who tried to laugh it off. “How y’all don’t know I got high blood pressure?” he joked weakly. But no one laughed.
Question after question, the results were the same — deception, deception, deception. He had lied about the trip. He had lied about other affairs. He had even lied about possibly having more children. The man Lashaundra had given her youth, her love, her loyalty — was a stranger.
Judge Starr’s words were firm but compassionate. She told Lashaundra that love should never mean losing yourself. That being loyal doesn’t mean being blind. And that sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away.
By the end of the hearing, Lashaundra had found her answer — and her resolve.
“It’s over,” she said quietly but clearly. “I’m leaving.”
Kenneth tried one last apology, but the damage was done. Twenty-one years, four children, and countless lies — all undone by thirty seconds of truth.
As the gavel struck and the audience applauded, Lashaundra stood taller than she had in years. Her tears were not of loss, but of freedom. For the first time since she was thirteen, she was ready to start over — this time, not for him, not for the kids, but for herself.
