Customer Stories
The girl was skipping toward a major roadway.
It was just before 11 p.m. on a Wednesday night in Germantown, Maryland, when the Montgomery County Police Department got the call. An eight-year-old girl with autism had gone missing from her home. Her mother had called 911, frantic, triggering a countywide “critical at-risk missing” response. “All available officers go,” said Commander Ed Pallas, who oversees the 5th District where the call was answered. “These are the calls where every second matters.”
Officer John McClellan had just left roll call and wasn’t assigned to the case—but headed out anyway. “I just overheard that there was a child missing,” he said. “So after roll call I left and immediately headed to the area just to help circulate.”
As he neared a large intersection, he saw other patrol cars heading down two different roads. He took the third and there, something caught his eye. “I just happened to see a bunch of guys in construction vests… running down the main intersection,” he said. “And I looked way ahead of them, and I could actually see the little girl skipping down the road.”
She was headed straight toward Middlebrook Road, a major roadway in Germantown, and the on-ramp to I-270.
“I was able to get ahead of the construction workers, put the car in park, and just take off running after her before she could enter the roadway.”
McClellan didn’t use his siren. Officers had been warned she might run from police. He tried to be as quiet as possible, even under the weight of full gear. “I just snuck up behind her, ran up behind her, grabbed her, and she just yelled, ‘No.’ And that’s the only word she said the whole time.”
The stretch of road was no quiet cul-de-sac. Even at that hour, there are less cars but they move fast—multiple lanes in each direction, just off a major interstate. “We’ve had pedestrians hit at night along that road before,” Pallas added. “It’s not theoretical. The danger was real.”
Once back at the cruiser, the tone changed from urgent to comforting. McClellan and another officer buckled her in gently. “We’re gonna get you home, OK sweetie?” one of them said, soft but steady. They tried to communicate with her, offering a plastic badge and small toys, but she remained mostly silent.
She’d traveled roughly a mile and a half from home. Somehow, she had made it across a major roadway. “I was honestly impressed,” McClellan admitted. “There’s no way I thought she made it down that far.”
Back at home, her mother had disabled the front door alarm briefly because guests were visiting. In that short window, her daughter slipped out. “From everything we heard on scene, the mom was just distraught,” Pallas said. “She had a rational explanation, but no one expects this. She did everything right afterward. She called us immediately.”
That call—and the calls from bystanders—made all the difference. “Time is the critical factor,” Pallas emphasized. “Not just our response time, but how quickly we’re notified. We’d rather get there and not be needed than arrive too late.”
The incident ended with a relieved mother reuniting with her child. But the department’s response didn’t end there, they connected the family with Officer Lorie Reyes, and the department’s Autism/IDD (Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities), Alzheimer's and Dementia Outreach Program.
Founded in 2005, the unit provides education, follow-up, and specialized response training for situations just like this.
Every week, MCPD officers respond to three to eight incidents involving people with autism in potentially dangerous situations. According to the National Autism Association, nearly half of children with autism are at risk of wandering from a safe setting.
The incident in Germantown ended safely—but not by chance.
That night it was the coordination of community members, trained officers, and hard-earned experience that changed the outcome. “I firmly believe Officer McClellan saved this young lady’s life,” Pallas said.
For McClellan, it was about being in the right place at the right time—and doing the right thing when it mattered. “I just wanted her to feel safe,” he said. “Let her know we were there to help.”
And in that moment—a calm voice and quiet, steady, hands buckling a seatbelt under the dim cruiser light, —that’s exactly what they did.