When a 911 call comes in as a “39,” Mobile police officers know they are heading into one of the most unpredictable situations in law enforcement. The code marks a domestic violence call, and officers who respond say the emotions on scene can turn in an instant, with both partners sometimes treating the responding officer as a tool to win the argument rather than as a rescuer.
In some of Alabama’s larger cities, as much as 60 percent of all 911 calls are connected to domestic violence, according to Steve Searcy, a law enforcement training coordinator with the Alabama Coalition Against Domestic Violence. Officers say sorting out who is the aggressor and who is the victim is often the hardest part of the job.
“The victim calls 911 because she wants the situation to stop and thinks an officer can fix the abuser and change him back to the person he was the day they met,” Searcy said. “Police are there to do the job they are required by law to do.”
Alabama law requires an arrest when there is an injury, even if the victim does not want her partner taken to jail. That requirement can turn a already tense scene volatile, with the officers who arrived to stop the violence suddenly viewed as the enemy for intervening.
Mobile Police Officer John Druell described a recent night on patrol that included two separate domestic calls. In the first, he stood by as a man loaded a television and clothes into his car and left his ex-girlfriend’s apartment. “We are the arbiter and mediator,” Druell said. “The boyfriend called 911 because he wanted us there as he moved out. An argument escalated and our presence prevented it from getting worse. It ended peacefully.”
His second call that night involved a man trying to stop his ex-girlfriend from banging on the doors and windows of his home. She was protesting a warrant he had signed for her arrest and wanted him to drop charges connected to items she was accused of stealing, with her court date approaching. Druell said the calls he answers come from men and women, from gay and straight couples, and from people of every race, with conflicts erupting over finances, children, infidelity or perceived slights.
For one survivor, who agreed to share her story using only her first name, Brittany, the turning point came when her young son witnessed her boyfriend sitting on top of her, choking her. “Please don’t hurt my mommy,” the boy said. It was the first time she called police, and the first time her boyfriend was arrested.
“He went to jail four times while we were together,” she said. “His brother bonded him out and I dropped the charges. Each time he came back begging and crying, saying he loved me and just wanted to take care of me. I was one of those women who believed and went back. My family told me if I went back, they were done. The people living around me knew that I had a baby daddy knocking on my windows every night. The police finally said, ‘If you call us again, we are taking you both in.’”
Officers return to the same addresses again and again, Druell said, and every visit carries the same goal: calm the situation and get the victim to safety. “The abuse gets worse and one day a 39 could become a 19 [domestic violence homicide],” he said. “We do our job the best that we can. We can’t control what the victim or abuser does next.”
Responding officers also cannot always control what happens to themselves. Mobile Police Officer Justin Billa was killed Feb. 20 responding to a domestic violence homicide call, after a man killed his ex-wife and then turned the gun on himself.
“Domestic violence killed Justin,” said Erin Billa, his widow, who is raising their almost 2-year-old son and now promotes police and community relations through the Justin Billa Foundation. “The abuse doesn’t just affect the family involved, it affects the whole community,” she said. “Maybe his death helps raise awareness of how dangerous these calls are for police and that they are human, with families waiting for them at home. They are doing a job no one else wants to do.”
That job sits at the front end of a much larger network of police, prosecutors, judges, shelters and advocates who work to move victims toward a safer life, a system many victims enter and leave more than once before it takes hold. After an arrest, domestic violence misdemeanors are handled in municipal court, while felony cases move to district court.
In Mobile, domestic violence cases are heard one day each month in Judge Jill Phillips’ district courtroom. A prosecutor from the district attorney’s office represents victims from one side of the room while defense attorneys sit across the aisle. Names are called, and it is not uncommon for a victim not to appear, prompting the prosecutor to request a reset and the judge to grant one more chance. In some cases, a defendant simply walks out once it is clear no victim will testify. In others, couples arrive together, charges are dropped, and they leave holding hands.
Victims dropping charges and abusers walking free are recurring frustrations for everyone working inside the system. In some instances, prosecutors pursue what are known as “victimless prosecutions,” moving forward without the victim’s testimony to protect her from having to take the stand.
“Even if we have strong evidence, the harder part is encouraging the victim to make the abuser accountable for his actions,” Mobile County District Attorney Ashley Rich said. “We know if we don’t get him now, both of them are going to be in our court again. This is a hard process for the victim. She may not want to leave him or he may be threatening to hurt her or her family if she goes through with it.”
Penelope House, Mobile’s domestic violence shelter, counsels victims, and the district attorney’s office assigns victim advocates to help survivors find their voice in the process. “We are asking the witness to go on the stand and revictimize herself by telling her story,” Rich said. “That is even harder if it goes to trial in front of a jury of strangers. But if we don’t do this, we can’t put away the perpetrator and he will do this again to the victim or to someone else.”
Judge Phillips said leaving an abusive relationship is a process, not a single event, and that the abuse tends to continue when a case does not move forward. “We had one case where the guy got off and then murdered a woman in his next relationship,” she said. “Maybe we could have prevented that death if the victim had pressed charges and sent him to jail.”
Court advocates work to build trust with victims over time, often making repeated attempts to get them into the courtroom, documenting new incidents and arranging safe escorts. They also walk victims through what to expect, including cross-examination by a defense attorney. “Courts are intimidating and another language that needs to be explained,” said Kristen Clikas-Murphree, supervisor of the Court Victim Advocate Program at Penelope House. “We prepare victims for the personal and difficult questions that the defense attorney will ask.”
Advocates and officers alike say the period right after an arrest, when a victim is deciding whether to leave, is among the most dangerous. An abuser arrested on a bond can be released and back at the residence within hours, sometimes before the victim has even left the hospital. “When we arrest and take the abuser away, we give the victim information about Penelope House and tell her to get out because he is going to be angry and likely to retaliate when he comes home,” Druell said.
Most domestic violence arrests in Mobile fall under third-degree domestic violence, a misdemeanor that serves as the catchall charge for the majority of cases. Bail for that charge is typically set between $500 and $1,000 by a municipal judge or magistrate, meaning a defendant can often bond out for $50 to $100. Bail is meant to guarantee a court appearance rather than serve as punishment, and low amounts are designed to be fair to defendants who cannot afford to pay. But advocates and officers argue that a higher bail in domestic violence cases could give an abuser time to cool off and serve as more of a deterrent.
“The bond schedule in Alabama is pitiful,” Searcy said. “He can get a misdemeanor domestic violence third for assault and beat the hell out of someone, bond out for $50 to $100 and be home while she is still in the hospital. It is a slap on the wrist and he will do it again. Raise the bail and it won’t be so easy for friends or family members to get him out each time. It gives him another reason to rethink his actions.”
A third misdemeanor domestic violence conviction automatically becomes a felony under Alabama law, but tracking that threshold requires officers, victims and advocates to keep careful count of prior charges. Even when a felony conviction does result in jail time, several people who work inside the system describe incarceration as something of a revolving door.
“An overcrowded system affects how much time domestic violence offenders will actually serve, and they are right, it is a revolving door,” said Spiro Cheriogotis, a former assistant district attorney recently elected as a District Court judge. “Metro Jail and the Alabama Department of Corrections have different calculations. Most offenders who are sentenced to jail time at Metro serve at least half of their sentence before they are eligible for release. Some felony offenders get a 15-year sentence and are out in two years and abusing victims again. Prisons need to be reformed.”
Victims also have a civil tool available to them: a protection from abuse order, or PFA, which offers legal protection against current or former intimate partners. Violating a PFA is itself a crime, even if the underlying behavior would not otherwise be, allowing officers to arrest an abuser before he has the chance to hurt the victim again. Under Alabama law, a person cannot legally possess a firearm if they have a misdemeanor domestic violence conviction or an active PFA against them.
“A PFA is a piece of paper, not a bulletproof vest, and victims still need to avoid circumstances and be safe,” Clikas-Murphree said. “It may not stop the abuser, but the punishment is greater and it empowers victims to be a little less afraid.” Searcy said even the process of obtaining a PFA can be dangerous for a victim. “Domestic violence is a continuation crime,” he said. “A protection order means he lost control to the court and he will fight to get that control back.”
Rhyon Ervin, executive director of The Lighthouse, the domestic violence shelter serving Baldwin County, said many victims feel guilty about seeing their abuser jailed, believing they are somehow responsible and need to be the one to change. Overcoming that guilt, she said, is often the first barrier advocates must help victims clear. “Families and friends will blame her, too, but she doesn’t have the power to put him in jail,” Ervin said. “His behavior put him in jail. I tell them if a stranger beat you and treated you like that, you would have no problems putting him in jail.”
Much of the toll of domestic violence plays out away from public view, inside hospital emergency rooms. Trauma teams treat victims for stabbings, gunshot wounds, burns and injuries from being pushed out of moving vehicles, along with rib and facial fractures, internal injuries and brain bleeds. “We see the worst sides of domestic violence, but patients don’t open up about what happened or who did this to them,” said Ashley Williams, a fourth-year surgical resident at USA Health University Hospital. “We have case managers and social workers who help with what happens next, but Alabama is one of the few states that does not have a mandatory reporting law, so physicians don’t have to notify police when one of these cases comes in.”
Even without a legal duty to report, hospital staff say they see the same patients cycle back through their doors. “We look at trauma patients as having a disease. If it happens once, the risk is higher that it will happen again,” Williams said. “If she doesn’t change the environment or behavior, she ends up back here with us trying to save her life again.”
Officers, prosecutors, judges, advocates and medical staff across Mobile and Baldwin counties describe a system that helps many victims reach safety but is far from perfect, and one that depends on victims being willing, and able, to step forward more than once. Those who work inside it say they carry the losses with them, along with the reminder that the people they did reach are still alive today.
Anyone needing counseling services can contact Lifelines Counseling Services at 251-602-0909. Penelope House, the domestic violence shelter serving Mobile, operates a 24-hour crisis hotline at 251-342-8994. The Lighthouse, the domestic violence shelter serving Baldwin County, can be reached through its crisis line at 800-650-6522. Residents anywhere in Alabama can also dial 211 to be connected with local resources.