Tracking domestic violence is difficult; more so in rural areas.
But in California鈥檚 Del Norte County, these calls come into law enforcement agencies at a rate two-and-a-half times that of anywhere else in the state.
The calls come in every day.
911 Dispatcher: 鈥淔emale reports that her boyfriend has a baseball bat, swinging it around. She鈥檚 afraid of him.鈥�
It鈥檚 late, about 1 a.m., when this one reaches a dispatcher for the Del Norte County Sheriff's Office.
911Dispatcher: 鈥淎t this time the female subject has locked herself in her room. Male subject is still outside.鈥�
More than an hour later, deputies reach a home on the outskirts of this sprawling county, near its southern border with Humboldt. They鈥檝e been called to deal with 27-year-old Joshua Musser, a man with a history of domestic violence.
Deputy: 鈥淐opy, is he inside the residence or outside?鈥� 911 Dispatcher: 鈥淯h, he may be inside now, but she said she鈥檚 feeling better. She鈥檚 got herself locked in her room. I told her to call back if she gets more concerned.鈥�
Hours later, the same woman calls back. Again Musser is not arrested. A couple of months later, the scene repeats. This time an arrest leads to probation and fines, the same sentence he鈥檚 gotten before, for assaulting her.
Another woman called 911 about Musser four years ago.
The cops took pictures of her body, showing the choke marks on her neck ... the fresh bruises on her face ... the tears in her clothing.
She declined medical care. She said she鈥檇 handle the situation on her own 鈥�
A lot of women try to handle abuse alone.
Kristin is 29, lives in Crescent City and she鈥檚 not using her real name. She describes her latest boyfriend and father of her two kids.
鈥淗e tried to choke me,鈥� Kristin says. 鈥淗e tried to gouge my eye out one time. I lost a fingernail because he bit my finger. It was bad, it was so bad. He鈥檚 pistol whipped me in the head. I鈥檝e had, I should have gotten stitches. I didn鈥檛 go. I don鈥檛 know. It wouldn鈥檛 have mattered. And I would be scared to leave him.鈥�
Only one in ten women victimized by a violent intimate will seek professional medical treatment, according to the US Bureau of Justice Statistics.
Kristin says that in her experience, reporting just leads to more abuse.
Jodi Hoone says secrecy is typical. Hoone is a longtime advocate for domestic violence victims in Del Norte County.
鈥淎nd 75 percent goes unreported,鈥� Hoone says. 鈥淪o, I鈥檓 thinking. It鈥檚 a huge epidemic.鈥�
Del Norte County Sheriff Erik Apperson says he and his deputies know this.
鈥淲e typically aren鈥檛 involved the first time it happens or the second time it happens,鈥� Apperson says. 鈥淪o there鈥檚 this longstanding history and a lot of times the victim or the survivor in this situation, they struggle to believe that law enforcement is actually going to help them.鈥�
Yet lately, the calls flood in eight times faster than they did just five years ago, while the resources to answer them have dwindled.
Take the Sheriff鈥檚 office, where staffing has declined by nearly a third in recent years. Del Norte District Attorney Dale Trigg says this high turnover has a ripple effect.
Trigg says arrest reports often reach his office weeks after an offender has been released from jail. That means fewer arrests lead to charges.
鈥淎nd it鈥檚 not always a law enforcement issue,鈥� he says. 鈥淚n fact, usually it鈥檚 not. The facts are what they are. If you go out to scene and you contact a woman who has injuries and she won鈥檛 tell you how she got those injuries, you can鈥檛 just figure, 鈥淲ell, I know how you got them and I鈥檓 going to arrest so-and-so for doing it.鈥� 聽I mean, you have to, the officers can鈥檛 do anything about that.鈥�
Trigg says all the officers can do is to try to get the truth out of people.
But Sheriff Erik Apperson explains how laws have changed to shift responsibility away from victim statements.
鈥淵ou know, now in California, if you can establish what鈥檚 legally defined as a primary aggressor, then you are required to make an arrest,鈥� Apperson says.
On average, though, less than 20 percent of Del Norte鈥檚 911 domestic violence calls lead to arrests. Apperson says most times, victims may want to talk, but not make a formal complaint.
鈥淭hey don鈥檛 want to go through the clinical part of, 鈥極kay, let me see the bruise and let鈥檚 move this article of clothing so I can hold a ruler up to it and take a picture.鈥欌��
But Melody, a 21-year-old-woman who spent her teens in Del Norte, says shame isn鈥檛 the only thing breeding silence.
鈥淧eople often blame the victim, because they don鈥檛 realize how hard it is to talk about stuff like that,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd they say if you鈥檙e not going to report it, then it鈥檚 basically your fault. 聽But I was afraid it would get worse.鈥�
Melody鈥檚 not her real name. She was once homeless and usually avoided police. Still, she tried to report more than one sexual assault.
鈥淎nd the cops they just weren鈥檛 very nice to me because I wouldn鈥檛 give them too many details. It was too hard for me... It鈥檚 still really hard for me to talk about that.鈥�
Eventually Melody got help. Now she has a job and a place to live.
But leaving town and starting over aren鈥檛 always options. And sometimes, reporting abuse can make things worse.
Del Norte Triplicate writer David Greider contributed to this report, which was supported by a California Health Journalism Fellowship from the USC Annenberg School of Journalism.