As a police officer, I've seen a lot of things during my time on the force. A lot of awful, sick things. Things that'd make you wonder if there's any good left in mankind. Things that I've carried with me for years, things I'll never forget. I've seen acts of human cruelty that exceed any horror you could conjure. But there's one incident that stands out above the rest. One that has haunted me for years and has been the cause of many restless nights. An incident that still causes my breath to hitch in my chest at the mere thought of it. Something that terrifies me to this day.
The night I met Tommy Taffy.
July 24th, 1987
"Shit we got a 911 call over on Tenner Street," My partner, Henry, said, leaning across the driver seat and opening my door.
I steadied the two coffees in my hands and ducked down, sliding behind the wheel. I passed a steaming cup to him and sighed heavily.
"Great. And here I was hoping we'd have a quiet night. What're we walking into?"
"Dispatch said a young girl called it in, something about a domestic disturbance," Henry replied, taking a cautious sip.
"Fantastic, I love getting in the middle of arguing couples," I sighed.
I placed my own cup in the holder and flicked on our lights, pulling out of the gas station, and roared down the highway. As we drove, I anxiously tapped my fingers against the wheel. We had been on dozens of calls like this, but each time I felt my pulse quicken. Domestic disputes meant that one of the parties was out of control. Out of control meant unpredictable. And unpredictable meant dangerous.
After a couple minutes, Henry pointed out into the night.
"There's Tenner."
I spun the wheel, "Got it."
The road was dark and quiet, a neat line of small houses set on quarter acre plots. I checked the address and then pulled into the driveway of a small two story house at the end of a cul-de-sac. I scanned the surrounding houses, searching for curious neighbors. The street was still, and empty. I got out of our cruiser, the warm night air caressing my face, and adjusted my hat. Henry mirrored me on the opposite side of the car, casting a quick glance my way.
"I don't hear anything," he muttered, watching the front of the house. The curtains were closed, but we could see the lights on.
"Probably saw the flashing red and blues and shut the argument down," I snorted, walking up the driveway. Henry joined me and together we marched up to the front door.
"Do the honors?" Henry asked, waving a hand before us.
"You sure know how to spoil a guy," I said, raising my fist and pounding on the door.
"Hello, police, please open the door!" I announced.
We paused for a moment as someone moved around inside, the dull thud of footsteps drawing closer. Then there was silence and I thought I could hear someone talking, a male voice.
"Police, please open the door!" I repeated, rapping my knuckles on the wood.
More silence, followed by a low muffled conversation.
Finally, the door opened a crack.
A woman peeked out at us, her face flush.
Henry tipped his hat, "Evening ma'am. We've had complaints about a domestic dispute...could you please open the door?"
"Everything is fine here," She breathed, her eye shifting between the crack to appraise us. "Just leave us alone, we're ok."
I placed a hand on the door, my voice stern, "Ma'am can we please speak to the man of the house?"
