Every Second Counted

Inside an apartment tower, two New Haven police officers had to act instantly if they had any chance of preventing a woman from falling seven floors to her death.

Even when they reached her, they couldn’t save her on their own.

“Help! Help!” they yelled.

Robbie Williams was in the hall. He heard the call.

A New Day

That was the frantic scene one recent morning inside a high-rise apartment building in town.

It lasted under four minutes. A lifetime depended on its outcome.

Officers Michael Rubino and Roberto Talloni were responding to a domestic violence complaint. Within seconds, the case turned into a life-or-death challenge. With no time to call on social workers or crisis specialists to help.

The call came in March 10 around 7 a.m. The two officers, who work the C squad overnight shift, were preparing to begin a second consecutive eight-hour shift, which New Haven’s cops do regularly because of a staffing shortage.

Rubino, who usually works in the Hill, had just picked up an iced caramel swirl coffee from the Forbes & Wheeler Dunkin’, part of his routine to transition to the second shift. An eight-and-a-half year NHPD veteran about to turn 32, he was parked a block from where the complaint came from. A woman had called 911 to say her romantic partner had assaulted her in the course of an argument that had escalated. New Haven officers respond to such calls pretty much every day. Rubino, who joined the force after ditching a plan to become a schoolteacher and switching his college major to criminal justice, has handled many of them. There was no reason to believe this call portended any unusual twist.

Talloni was also preparing to begin a second consecutive shift. He’d worked his regular C squad beat off I‑91 Exit 8. Now he headed to join Rubino to accompany him to the domestic-violence call.

When they arrived at the seventh-floor apartment, the woman who had called in the complaint had left. She doesn’t live in the apartment. Her partner, who does live in the apartment, was still home.

The officers spoke with the partner. She said the complainant had started the argument. She did not have any physical injuries. She declined to give a written statement.

Next the officers called the original complainant. She agreed to meet up with them outside a building on Court Street.

When the officers arrived there, they noticed the woman had scratches to her forehead, her lip, under her eye. She was still bleeding. At the apartment they had also noticed some of her hair, which had apparently been pulled out, on the floor.

“I don’t want to do this anymore,” the woman told them about her romantic relationship, explaining the cause of the argument. She said the other woman had lunged at her, wrapped an arm around her neck badly enough to make her black out, struck her repeatedly in the face, and pulled out one of her dreadlocks. She said she had grabbed the other woman’s head to try to stop the assault, then was able to leave. She also admitted throwing the other woman’s cellphone in the sewer.

The officers issued the woman a misdemeanor summons for fourth-degree larceny because of the phone.

Then they had to make the big decision: Whom to charge.

State domestic-violence law has changed since Rubino became a cop. Officers in the past regularly arrested both parties when responding to violent arguments; that often kept victims from filing complaints.

Under a ​“dominant aggressor” law that took effect in Connecticut in 2019 (more about that here), officers must make arrests in response to reports of domestic violence, but need to determine the responsible party.

Talloni, 34, one of 80 New Haven officers to join the force since the pandemic began, has been trained only in the new law. (He studied political science in college, then worked a factory job in Trumbull; a combination of remembering NHPD ride-alongs he engaged in as part of his college work and reports from friends on the force convinced him to make the career change to policing.) Rubino said he was happy to be retrained under the new domestic violence law because it’s fairer, ​“allows us to look at everything,” and ​“makes our jobs easier.”

So after interviewing both women, they compared notes. Based on the physical injuries, the fact that the second woman had called the police and agreed to give a written statement, each had concluded that the first woman was the dominant aggressor.

"We Spoke To Her"

So they returned to the seventh floor. They knocked. The woman opened the door. Rubino (pictured above) took the lead.

Talloni’s body camera captured the exchange.

“So,” it shows Rubino informing the woman calmly, as he stood outside, ​“we spoke to her.” He said the woman had gotten ​“in trouble” for throwing away the phone.

Rubino took a breath and looked the woman in the eye.

“She’s got cuts all over her face,” he said.

“She attacked me,” the woman responded.

“So listen …” Rubino began, keeping his voice soft.

Anticipating what would come next, the woman exclaimed, ​“I have to go jail?”

He nodded.

“No no no! I didn’t do anything!” she started crying. ​“No! You can’t take me to jail! She attacked me! Are you serious?”

Rubino softly sought to calm her. As he would later explain, he decided she needed time and space to express her feelings. He saw no immediate threat to the officers’ safety, he said, so there was no need to grab her or rush forward with the arrest. He could wait. (“If I amp it up, that’s just going to amp it up.”)

“I didn’t do anything, please!” she called. Rubino took one step forward and half-whispered a suggestion to ​“calm down.”

“Please please please please! I didn’t do anything! Please don’t take me to jail!” she called out, and began stepping backwards. Rubino remained in the doorway, Talloni in the hall.

Next the woman stepped into the apartment’s kitchen area. That did cause concern, because, as Talloni later put it, ​“we’re taught kitchens are danger zones — they have knives.” Would she grab one?

Before they could notice (later, after the fact, they would see one), the woman dashed to the window. It was less than two minutes since the officers had arrived, some 30 seconds after she had begun showing multiple signs of distress.

“Whoa!” the officers called out. They didn’t stop to think about what to do. They certainly didn’t have time to call COMPASS, the city’s new social worker-staffed crisis response team. They broke into a run (pictured above) to try to stop her from leaping out.

Fortunately, the window was shut. So the woman had to open it. That bought a couple of seconds.

But she had enough of a head start to have lunged much of her body out of it by the time Rubino, then Talloni, caught up.

Screams Reach The Hallway

Rubino grabbed her legs, from the left. ​“It was like a movie,” he later recalled. ​“I heard and saw her shirt ripping.”

From the right, Talloni was able to grab the woman’s waist.

But they couldn’t get her back inside.

“Help!” they yelled. ​“Help!!”

Robbie Williams, a 68-year retired Town Green Special Services District ​“ambassador” who lives on the floor, was passing by in the hall on his way downstairs. He heard the yells. He ran in.

He rushed in between the two officers. He grabbed the woman’s belt. They pulled. Williams got his arm around her arm and shoulder. They still struggled to get her back inside. It still appeared she might fall to her death.

Williams called for help too; he later said another neighbor named Drew rushed in as well and pulled on the three men.

That worked. Everyone fell backwards.

Talloni fell first, smashing his lower back against an air conditioning unit. The woman landed next, on him, then Rubino on top.

“She attacked me! I don’t want to go to jail!” the woman screamed.

The officers started to handcuff her as she sought to squirm from their grip. She managed to free one hand enough to grab Talloni’s gun, he said. He yelled for help; they were able, with the assistance of Williams, to re-cuff her wrists.

On the ground, she again reached for the gun, but couldn’t get it.

The officers helped the woman up. Minutes after the dash to the window, everyone was safe. And somewhat calmer.

“If he didn’t help us,” Rubino would later say of Robbie Williams, he’s not sure how the incident would have ended.

Williams described the situation as ​“scary” and the woman as a friendly neighbor. He said he was ​“thankful” to the officers for their composure and quick response under stress, and grateful to God ​“to put me here. I’m glad I was there to help.”

COMPASS Steps In

The woman, telling the officers she had no physical injuries, declined medical attention. Rubino decided to have her sent to the hospital for psychological evaluation, where she was held under a safety watch until subsequently being evaluated and released. She was charged with third-degree assault, second-degree breach of peace, and interfering with an officer.

Sgt. Jasmine Sanders, the top Hill cop, has been working regularly with COMPASS since its launch last year. She connected the woman with the team, which followed up. ​“She was open and accepted” help from services to which the team directed her, Sanders reported. ​“They’re going to be working with her, which is great.” Both Sanders and Assistant Chief David Zannelli, who oversees patrol, commended the officers for their lightning-quick life-saving work; Zannelli also called it a model example of community policing, with officers seeking and receiving crucial help from a neighbor.

After the adrenaline rush of the incident, Officer Talloni noticed he did have back pain. He went for evaluation, then spent a week on light duty before returning to his regular shift this week.

Rubino returned to the beat; his second shift was still in its early hours. Both Chief Karl Jacobson and Assistant Chief Zannelli checked in with him during the shift to praise the officers’ life-saving work. Jacobson offered him a mental health day; Rubino declined.

He didn’t have time that Friday to process the intensity of what had just happened. Later he would reflect on how the incident demonstrated ​“the impact you can have” as a police officer.

Rubino had to wait to write up the incident report until later in his morning shift. He was called to back up another officer responding to a person in emotional distress. In this case, the officers had time to call COMPASS on the spot. So they did.

If you are struggling with self-harm, you are not alone. The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is 800−273−8255; it operates 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. The crisis text line is 741741.

Previous stories about officers on the beat:

• Shafiq Abdussabur
• Yessennia Agosto
• Craig Alston & Billy White Jr.
• Joseph Aurora
• James Baker
• Lloyd Barrett
• Pat Bengston & Mike Valente
• Elsa Berrios
• Manmeet Bhagtana (Colon)
• Paul Bicki
• Paul Bicki (2)
• Sheree Biros
• Bitang
• Kevin Blanco
• Scott Branfuhr
• Bridget Brosnahan
• Thomas Brunski, Trevor Canace, Nick Samartino, Daniel Smith
• Craig Burnett & Orlando Crespo
• Keron Bryce and Steve McMorris
• Keron Bryce and Osvaldo Garcia
• Keron Bryce and Osvaldo Garcia (2)
• Dennis Burgh
• Tyler Camp
• Anthony Campbell
• Darryl Cargill & Matt Wynne
• Elizabeth Chomka & Becky Fowler
• Rob Clark & Joe Roberts
• Sydney Collier
• Carlos Conceicao
• Carlos Conceicao (2)
• Carlos Conceicao and Josh Kyle
• David Coppola
• Mike Criscuolo
•Natalie Crosby
• Steve Cunningham and Timothy Janus
• Chad Curry
• Gabrielle Curtis, Tyler Evans, Justin Julianelle
• Gregory Dash
• Roy Davis
• Joe Dease
• Milton DeJesus
• Milton DeJesus (2)
• Rose Dell
• Brian Donnelly
• Renee Dominguez, Leonardo Soto, & Mary Helland
• Anthony Duff
• Anthony Duff (2)
• Robert DuPont
• Robert DuPont and Rose Dell
• Eric Eisenhard & Jasmine Sanders
• Jeremie Elliott and Scott Shumway
• Jeremie Elliott (2)
• Jose Escobar Sr.
• Bertram Ettienne
• Bertram Ettienne (2)
• Daniel Evans & Ramonel Torres
• Martin Feliciano & Lou DeCrescenzo
• Paul Finch
• Jeffrey Fletcher
• Renee Forte
• Marco Francia
• Michael Fumiatti
• Michael Fumiatti (2)
• Osvaldo Garcia, Marlena Ofiara & Jake Wright
• William Gargone
• William Gargone (2)
• William Gargone & Mike Torre
• Derek Gartner
• Derek Gartner & Ryan Macuirzynski
• Tom Glynn & Matt Williams
• Jon Haddad & Daniela Rodriguez
• Michael Haines
• Michael Haines & Brendan Borer
• Michael Haines & Brendan Borer (2)
• Dan Hartnett
• Ray Hassett
• Robert Hayden
• Heidi
• Patricia Helliger
• Robin Higgins
• Ronnell Higgins
• William Hurley & Eddie Morrone
• Derek Huelsman
• Racheal Inconiglios
• Juan Ingles
• Bleck Joseph and Marco Correa
• Shayna Kendall
• Shayna Kendall (2)
• Paul Kenney
• Hilda Kilpatrick
• Herb Johnson
• John Kaczor & Alex Morgillo
• Jillian Knox
• Peter Krause
• Peter Krause (2)
• Amanda Leyda
• Rob Levy
•Kyle Listro & Joseph Perrotti
• Anthony Maio
• Dana Martin
• Ashley McKernan
• Reggie McGlotten
• Steve McMorris
• Juan Monzon
• Monique Moore and David Santiago
• Matt Myers
• Carlos and Tiffany Ortiz
• Tiffany Ortiz
• Doug Pearse and Brian Jackson
• Chris Perrone
• Joseph Perrotti
• Joseph Perrotti & Gregory Dash
• Ron Perry
• Joe Pettola
• Diego Quintero and Elvin Rivera
• Ryan Przybylski
• Stephanie Redding
• Tony Reyes
•David Rivera
• Luis & David Rivera
• Luis Rivera (2)
• Salvador Rodriguez
• Salvador Rodriguez (2)
• Brett Runlett
• David Runlett
• Betsy Segui & Manmeet Colon
• Allen Smith
• Marcus Tavares
• Martin Tchakirides
• David Totino
• Stephan Torquati
• Gene Trotman Jr.
* Elisa Tuozzoli
• Kelly Turner
• Lars Vallin (& Xander)
• Dave Vega & Rafael Ramirez
• Earl Reed
• Daophet Sangxayarath & Jessee Buccaro
• Jason Santiago
• Herb Sharp
• Matt Stevens and Jocelyn Lavandier
• Jessica Stone
• Jessica Stone & Mike DeFonzo
• Arpad Tolnay
• Mike Torre & Ray Saracco
• John Velleca
• Manuella Vensel
• Holly Wasilewski
• Holly Wasilewski (2)
• Alan Wenk
• Stephanija VanWilgen
• Donald White, Brandon Way, & David Santiago
• Elizabeth White & Allyn Wright
• Matt Williams
• Michael Wuchek
• Michael Wuchek (2)
• David Zannelli
• Cailtin Zerella
• Caitlin Zerella (2)
• Caitlin Zerella, Derek Huelsman, David Diaz, Derek Werner, Nicholas Katz, and Paul Mandel
• David Zaweski