Editor’s note: This story describes domestic violence and includes descriptions of violent acts. Readers experiencing domestic violence can call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 and reach out to local resource groups for help.
Sherida Davis had a life.
Three sons, a job, friends and faith.
She would do little things to get a laugh, like impressions of her big brother’s voice.
She loved finding a good deal on Black Friday.
She sang in her church’s choir and praise team, her voice ringing out hymns:
“Sometimes you have to encourage yourself.
“Sometimes you have to speak victory during the test.”
Still, her mother and friends knew that something was wrong at home.
They noticed how her husband wanted to know where she was at all times. How he rationed the boys’ food. How he moved from arguments to overt threats, once claiming he would shoot at her friends when they came to pick her up.
Sherida had told her two sons what to do if they heard a loud argument between her and their father: Stay in your room. If anything happens, call 911.
On March 11, 2017, her boys did what she taught them.
As they hid, they heard eight gunshots and then silence.
The oldest called 911.
He was 12.
What is the full toll of deadly domestic violence in Milwaukee County?
Women like Sherida are not the only victims of domestic violence.
So are their children.
At least 181 people, both children and adults, lost a parent in homicides related to domestic violence in Milwaukee County over the last seven years, according to a new analysis from the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel.
And children, sometimes not even related to the victim, often witness these deadly scenes.
A child was present in at least 43% of homicides examined by the Journal Sentinel, the first time this data has been tracked locally.
“This is the cycle of violence,” said Karin Tyler, a domestic abuse survivor and operations manager for the Milwaukee Office of Community Wellness and Safety.
“The youth that are witnessing this, that are impacted by it at this young age, what is going to be the outcome of their lives?”
The person who took Sherida’s life was someone she was married to, lived with and shared children. Her death met every definition of domestic violence under Wisconsin law.
But the criteria in state law is narrow and can obscure the full toll of what is happening in cities and villages across the state.
The Journal Sentinel set out to quantify the broader scope of homicides related to domestic violence in Milwaukee County from 2016 to 2022.
The news organization looked for cases that involved what is termed intimate partner violence, which occurs within any romantic or sexual relationship, including current or past dating partners.
It also tracked family violence with relatives killing other relatives, child abuse and neglect deaths, and killings stemming from romantic rivalries between current and former partners, as well as retaliation after someone learns of abuse allegations and takes matters into their own hands.
In all, the Journal Sentinel identified at least 178 homicides that were broadly related to domestic violence.
Dozens of those deaths would not meet Wisconsin’s legal definition of domestic violence.
Nearly 40% of the total stemmed from intimate partner violence. The next largest share was a result of family violence, which typically involved an adult killing a parent, sibling or other relative.
At least 47 of the homicides — more than one in four — occurred in a public setting, including parks, yards and streets. Of those homicides, 40 were shootings, where errant bullets put the public at risk. At least 13 bystanders were killed, people who had nothing to do with the underlying abuse.
These figures are conservative. The Journal Sentinel included only cases that could be confirmed through public records as related to domestic, family or intimate partner violence.
Local and national experts who reviewed the results said they aligned with previous research in other parts of the country and with local trends.
The findings underscore what advocates and law enforcement have been saying in recent years:
Domestic violence is a major driver of violent crime in Milwaukee. It puts everyone at risk, not just the two people in a relationship.
And critical funding to address it is drying up.
At first, ‘he was a gentleman’ who found his place in her family
Growing up, Sherida’s family was close.
Her mother, a nurse, and father, a facilities manager at a hospital, moved their family from Illinois to Milwaukee in the 1980s.
Her brother, Michael Washington, was four years older. The two constantly teased each other. As they grew older, Sherida would gently scold her brother for not calling their mother more often.
“You only call Mama when you have your girlfriend issues,” their mother remembers her saying.
While studying for her bachelor’s degree at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, Sherida had her first son. She raised him with help from her parents. She worked in business management and later earned her master’s degree from Cardinal Stritch University.
Her brother had become a Milwaukee police officer. His then-wife, also an officer, introduced Sherida to their colleague, Leon Davis.
“He was a gentleman,” Sylvia Moragne, her mother, remembered. “He tip-toed through the door and had his hat on.”
Sherida’s brother was wary.
“I didn’t know him that well, but what I did know about him – let’s just say I wasn’t a fan of his,” Washington said in an interview.
But Leon reassured Sherida and her family. He and Washington ended up getting along. He found his place in family gatherings.
The couple had their first son together in 2004. Two years later, they were married.
Sherida and her family did not know about her husband’s history of domestic violence.
It was extensive.
The top risk factor for domestic violence homicide? Earlier domestic abuse
Leon Davis joined the Milwaukee Police Department in 1995.
Within a year, internal affairs learned he had been accused of slapping an ex-girlfriend, who he had a child with. He was not charged or disciplined, but department investigators noted it in his personnel file.
The former couple took out restraining orders against each other. As a result, Leon was required to lock up his gun in the captain’s safe when he was off duty.
Leon tried to get the order lifted. A judge refused. As he drove away from the courthouse, he rammed into his ex-girlfriend’s car, then kicked out two of its windows. Witnesses, including an on-duty Milwaukee police officer, saw the whole thing.
“I just went to court today to get this restraining order lifted,” Leon told the officer, according to department records.
“There was nothing done,” he said. “I’m tired of following the rules.”
Prosecutors charged him with criminal damage to property and violating a domestic abuse injunction. The case was later dismissed when the woman said she did not want to pursue it.
That year, internal affairs received approximately 10 reports of incidents involving the couple, a lieutenant wrote in Leon’s file. The woman withdrew the restraining order early because she didn’t want him to lose his job, a common reason domestic violence victims do not report abuse.
By 1999, internal affairs received another allegation of domestic violence against him, this time involving a fellow officer he was living with. During an argument, he ripped up her belongings and grabbed a necklace, leaving “minor welts” on her chest. Both denied hitting each other and prosecutors declined to issue charges.
A few years later, he started dating Sherida.
In the domestic violence and intimate partner homicides analyzed by the Journal Sentinel, at least 22% involved a suspect with a previous domestic violence arrest.
“The No. 1 risk factor for domestic violence homicide is prior domestic violence,” said Jacquelyn Campbell, a professor at the Johns Hopkins School of Nursing, who created a danger assessment to help identify domestic violence cases likely to end in homicide.
Another risk factor: Having a child an abusive partner knows is not theirs.
How survivors make decisions to keep themselves, and their children, safe
Children change everything.
Parents in abusive relationships often don’t leave because of them.
Maybe a parent won’t have housing or enough money to support their kids alone. Maybe they believe two-parent households are more stable than one.
Maybe they fear losing custody in a contentious divorce or child welfare officials investigating if they call the police.
But often the calculus shifts when a parent realizes the impact of what their children are seeing and hearing.
For Brittney Rodriguez, it happened when her young daughters began talking about what they witnessed and sharing it with other relatives.
“It was like a light bulb for me,” she said. “I have to end this.”
Her sister-in-law, Candise Nash, a mother of two, had a stark realization about her own vulnerability after another relative was stabbed to death by an ex-boyfriend.
“I’m thinking for me, as a Black woman, I’m going to fight back,” she said. “I’m not getting beat up, I can protect myself. And then something tragic like that happens.”
Another survivor clearly recalled the moment she knew her partner was capable of killing her. All she could think of was her children and who would care for them if she died.
“My biggest fear is my children won’t grow up together,” said Shemeika, who asked to be identified by her first name out of safety and privacy concerns. The Journal Sentinel does not identify domestic violence victims without their consent.
The couple were in her car. He was driving. She was in the passenger seat, pregnant with her fifth child. He got angry and began speeding on the rain-soaked road, repeatedly saying, “I could just kill you right now,” and nearly crashing into a FedEx truck.
That was the night she decided to leave. It took her a year to do so permanently, but she did it.
“After he showed me that, I thought ‘I can’t leave all these kids behind,’” she said.
In many of the cases examined by the Journal Sentinel, children witnessed domestic abuse before a homicide.
“You shot at us in the car, threw something through our window that could have burned the whole house down,” one 11-year-old Milwaukee girl said in court to the man convicted of killing her mother in 2019.
“You’d hit her every day.”
How to help:What to do if you or someone you care about is in an abusive relationship
Domestic violence takes many forms and often starts with verbal and emotional abuse
Leon wasn’t physically abusive at first.
Sherida’s oldest son, who was not Leon’s biological child, remembered being as young as 10 and seeing Leon pointing his finger in Sherida’s face, calling her a bitch and screaming at her.
Within a few years, the arguing was constant. Leon accused Sherida of cheating. Sherida was frustrated Leon was not home more.
Once, when her oldest son was about 16, Leon confronted him over dirty dishes in the sink, grabbing his collar and threatening to kill him.
Sherida broke up the fight. The teen moved in with Sherida’s parents soon after.
Her mother had noticed Leon growing more controlling. He always wanted to know exactly where Sherida was. He even limited what she and their two sons ate. He began drinking alcohol more heavily.
She encouraged Sherida to have a bag packed with clothes for her and the younger boys and to come stay with her whenever she needed.
After Sherida’s death, her mother found the bag.
It was only half-packed.
Victims are reluctant to reach out and fear for their safety if they do
Many victims stay silent.
Sojourner Family Peace Center, the state’s largest provider of services for domestic abuse victims, keeps its own statistics on deadly domestic violence in Milwaukee County. The center found two-thirds of people killed last year had never requested help — either from local law enforcement or from Sojourner.
Sojourner also coordinates a homicide prevention unit known as the Milwaukee County Domestic Violence High Risk Team. It is composed of advocates, police, prosecutors, probation agents and other partners who work to keep victims safe and hold offenders accountable.
From 2017 through 2022, the team took on more than 4,100 cases. Only one ended in a homicide.
“The disconnect here is that the people who are ending up dying, we didn’t know about,” said Erin Schubert, Sojourner’s director of outcomes and evaluation.
That points to a lack of awareness of local resources and a lack of trust. Another signal of mistrust revealed in the Journal Sentinel analysis: A small but rising number of retaliatory homicides, as people trying to seek justice for loved ones experiencing domestic abuse take matters into their own hands.
At least nine of those killings occurred in the past three years, the Journal Sentinel found.
“I do think there’s a mistrust of law enforcement,” said Milwaukee Police Capt. Erin Mejia, who leads the Sensitive Crimes Division. “Larger than that, though, I feel that the victims in domestic violence are very fearful.”
“They can report to us but if we are unable to get that offender into custody, they still have to go home at the end of the day,” she continued. “Even if this offender is taken into custody, what happens when they get out of custody? They’re not going to be held forever.”
Many victims may be reluctant to contact advocacy services, too. Calls to advocacy hotlines are confidential, but victims may wrongly assume advocates will report what they say to law enforcement or believe advocates will push them to leave a relationship before they are ready.
“Some of what we see in the homicide statistics is people don’t trust, people don’t have faith and they’ve had bad experiences,” said Carmen Pitre, Sojourner’s president and chief executive.
“We need that to shift and change.”
A case of repeated calls for help, but no arrests
Sherida did ask for help.
In 2015, she called 911 to report a domestic violence battery. Her brother was working at a homicide scene when the police inspector there said he had to go to an off-duty officer’s house for a call. Washington recognized Sherida’s address.
Leon was not arrested. Washington called his sister the next day.
“I was upset with her,” Washington recalled. “Why didn’t you tell (the officers) you were afraid? You were afraid, right? Why did you even call if you weren’t going to tell them the truth?”
The officers didn’t arrest Leon, Washington believed, because his sister downplayed what had happened.
Their mother felt differently.
“Had he been an ordinary person, they would have arrested him,” she said.
Someone at Sherida’s house called 911 again in February 2017. By then, the couple had filed for divorce.
The 911 call was classified as “family trouble.”
No police report was filed and no one was arrested.
A homicide detective is called to his sister’s house
Sherida called her mother shortly before 2 p.m. on March 11, 2017.
She had plans to take her sons to a movie. Her mother could hear something wrong in her voice.
“Are you OK, girl?” her mother remembered asking.
“I think so,” Sherida replied.
“What do you mean you think so?” she said.
Then she heard her daughter’s husband screaming on the phone, saying Sherida had called 911 for “no apparent reason” and yelling “I want her out of the house.”
Sherida’s brother got the next call. His ex-wife, also a Milwaukee police officer, told him gunfire had been reported at his sister’s address.
Washington raced to the house. Sherida had been shot in the chest, shoulder and leg. Paramedics were taking her to Froedtert Hospital.
Her husband was dead from a single gunshot wound to the head. The casings at the scene matched the gun he used as a Milwaukee police officer.
Washington was about to leave for the hospital when an officer stopped him. Sherida’s two sons needed their uncle.
Two hours later, Sherida died. She was 38.
As domestic violence becomes deadlier, a massive drop in funding to help victims
As homicides have surged to historic levels in Milwaukee in recent years, prosecutors charged fewer domestic violence cases.
The Milwaukee County District Attorney’s Office had a steep drop in its charging rate for domestic-violence-related cases — from about 32% in 2019 to about 19% in 2022.
That drop coincided with a sharp decline in victims seeking help at Sojourner, which houses a prosecutor to meet quickly with victims to consider charges.
Advocates and law enforcement have suggested isolation during the pandemic and changes in how police can connect victims to service providers under the victim-rights measure known as Marsy’s Law as potential explanations for the decline.
Meanwhile, domestic and family violence killings began making up a larger share of the growing homicide totals in the city of Milwaukee.
Those types of homicides made up no more than 12.6% of the city’s total from 2016 through 2018. The next year, the share jumped to 17% and has remained elevated, the Journal Sentinel found.
Last year, those killings made up 16% of the homicide total. That means one out of every six homicides was somehow related to domestic, family or intimate partner violence.
Those experiencing domestic violence have better outcomes when they access advocacy services, particularly those that are tailored to their culture and in their language.
But providers across the state are preparing themselves for a massive cut next year in federal funding for victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. The money flows into crime victim offices within each state and then is distributed.
Wisconsin expects to fund only 52 programs, a drop from 135, and cap funding at $250,000 for each organization.
Nearly 90 programs serving domestic violence and sexual assault survivors receive this federal funding. More than half of those programs, including 10 primarily serving victims in Milwaukee County, received more than $250,000.
An agency like The Asha Project, the only culturally specific provider for African American women in Milwaukee, is projected to lose one-and-a-half of its eight staff positions. Black women were the victims in nearly 40% of the homicides analyzed by the Journal Sentinel.
“Everyone is scared,” said Antonia Drew Norton, Asha’s founder. “Everyone is going to lose staff.”
An overwhelming number of domestic violence deaths, each an overwhelming loss
Sherida’s three sons lost their mother.
Two also lost a father. Washington, their uncle, became their legal guardian.
He came to respect and acknowledge their grieving process was different from his. He wanted to go to the cemetery; they did not. He wanted to talk about Sherida; they usually did not.
Together, they found a way forward. The oldest excelled in high school, earning straight A’s and playing multiple instruments, and started college this fall. The youngest has a strong group of friends and plays on his high school’s basketball team.
His sister’s death changed everything about Washington’s life, including his job as a Milwaukee homicide detective.
He knew exactly how the families on the other side of the yellow tape felt.
He began sharing his sister’s story publicly and warning others about the seriousness of domestic violence. He pushed back on assumptions and stereotypes people have about domestic abuse.
“There’s always this first thought: ‘Why are you sticking around? Why don’t you just leave?’” he said.
“Everybody doesn’t have those resources to be able to leave.”
A few months ago, Washington and his mother sat down to talk about Sherida.
Washington thought back to the domestic violence calls he had handled as a patrol officer and all the related homicide cases he investigated as a detective.
“As a patrol officer, you go with domestic violence calls all the time,” he said.
He came to recognize certain houses for repeat calls. Maybe someone had a restraining order but agreed to let a partner return and something bad happened. Now, they’re calling again.When he moved to homicide, he saw domestic violence deaths regularly. He noticed the increase in those cases in the last five years as he neared retirement. Each one reminded him of his sister.
He tried to estimate how many of those calls he had investigated. He could not. The numbers were overwhelming.
The victims included women and men, of all races and all class levels.
“It can happen to anybody,” he said.
Where to find help for domestic violence
Domestic violence advocates can help with safety planning. Calls to advocates are confidential and do not involve law enforcement.
- The National Domestic Violence Hotline is 800-799-7233.
- The Sojourner Family Peace Center in Milwaukee operates a 24-hour confidential hotline at 414-933-2722.
- We Are Here Milwaukee provides information on culturally specific organizations at weareheremke.org.
- The Women’s Center in Waukesha has a 24-hour hotline at 262-542-3828.
- The Asha Project, which provides culturally specific services for African American women and others in Milwaukee, provides a crisis line from 9 a.m. to 4 p.m. at 414-252-0075.
- The UMOS Latina Resource Center in Milwaukee offers bilingual, bicultural domestic violence, sexual assault and anti-human trafficking supportive services and operates a 24-hour hotline at 414-389-6510.
- The Gerald L. Ignace Indian Health Center offers culturally sensitive, trauma-informed services for those who have experienced domestic or sexual violence and can be reached at 414-383-9526.
- Our Peaceful Home, which serves Muslim families and is a program of the Milwaukee Muslim Women’s Coalition, operates a crisis line at 414-727-1090.
- The Hmong American Women’s Association, which serves the Hmong and Southeast Asian community, has advocates available at 414-930-9352 from 8 a.m. to 4:30 p.m. Monday through Friday.
- End Domestic Abuse Wisconsin has a statewide directory of resources at endabusewi.org/get-help.
Ashley Luthern can be reached at ashley.luthern@jrn.com. She reported this story while participating in the USC Annenberg Center for Health Journalism’s 2023 Domestic Violence Impact Fund.
