Shot 10 Times by Abusive Fiancé: From Victim to NYPD Detective and Advocate

By Clea Skopeliti / ANW
New York, November 20, 2025 –

In a freezing January dawn in 1993, 22-year-old Katrina Brownlee arrived at the Long Island home she once shared with her abusive fiancé, a prison officer, to collect her belongings.

Five months pregnant and fleeing with her two young daughters, she trusted his recent assurances that their toxic relationship was over.

But as she rummaged through empty drawers, a nightmare unfolded: he ambushed her with a gun pointed at her swollen belly.

He fired three times into her stomach, then chased her through the house, shooting her seven more times – in the arm, buttock, hip, and vagina – over the next 90 agonizing minutes.

He beat her with a wooden board, screaming, “You don’t want to be with me? I gave you everything!”

Brownlee, playing dead as in a haunting premonition she’d had weeks earlier, blacked out in a pool of her own blood.

Her two-year-old daughter, miraculously overlooked in the next room, survived unscathed.

Rescued only by the fiancé’s cousin – alerted by a frantic earlier call – Brownlee was rushed to a hospital, where she slipped into a nine-day coma.

Doctors delivered crushing verdicts: her unborn child was gone, her fertility destroyed by the bullets, and paralysis loomed.

Six slugs remain lodged in her body to this day, too dangerous to extract.

Yet, against all odds, she defied the prognosis, walking unaided by summer’s end. Today, at 55, Brownlee stands as a testament to resilience: a retired NYPD detective, author, and fierce advocate for domestic violence survivors.

Her story, detailed in her memoir And Then Came the Blues: My Story of Survival and My Rise in the NYPD (Akashic Books, $26.99), released this year, exposes the shadows of abuse within law enforcement families and the systemic failures that enable it.

Raised in 1970s Brooklyn by a grandmother battling alcoholism after abandonment, Brownlee endured early chaos: sexual abuse in a drug-dealer landlord’s building, a teen pregnancy at 14 that forced her to drop out of school, and rejection by her mother, who died of cancer when Brownlee was 17.

She met her abuser at 18, dazzled by his badge and stability. But red flags escalated quickly.

When she sought an abortion early in their first pregnancy, he beat her and shredded her clinic referral.

Her grandmother urged her to stay for the “better life” he promised. Engaged in 1989, they moved to Long Island in 1991. Isolation deepened; beatings intensified. She called police three times, but officers retreated after he flashed his badge – even with her visible bruises.

One 1990 assault sent her tumbling down stairs, triggering premature labor. Again, cops deferred to him.

By late 1992, after a chair-smashing beating, Brownlee fled to a motel, pregnant again and starting a secret, healthier affair.

But poverty and fear drew her back that fateful day. Post-shooting, her daughters stayed with his mother, who later evicted Brownlee for refusing to recant.

Homeless in a Bronx shelter, she rebuilt amid grief. Faith bloomed; she was baptized that summer.

The 1994 trial gutted her further. Despite her testimony – coerced by a tenacious assistant DA, Keri Herzog – he pleaded guilty to attempted murder but drew just 5-15 years for a “crime of passion,” citing his clean record.

A forged letter, possibly from his mother, claimed Brownlee wouldn’t press charges. Herzog had sought life. “I was totally gutted,” Brownlee recalls. “The justice system failed me again.”

Numb and “normalized” to pain, she cycled through damaging relationships, including with an incarcerated man and a dealer.

Therapy in 2009 cracked her open: “I collapsed… the first time I felt safe.” At 27, seeking purpose, she aced the NYPD exam, joining in 2001 as a traffic officer while earning her high school diploma nights.

Why join the force that betrayed her? “To be a good cop,” she says. “Bridge the gap between community and police. More empathy, end racial profiling, mutual respect.”

She thrived undercover in narcotics and vice, relating to sex workers from “the same story” of abuse and neglect.

In community affairs, she launched Young Ladies of Our Future, mentoring at-risk teens on red flags like those she ignored.

She guarded Mayor Bill de Blasio, one of the first Black women in that role, and retired as a first-grade detective in 2021 after 20 years.

Her book indicts the “blue wall of silence,” pushing for mandatory therapy: “Officers see heavy stuff, then go home as parents.

They need an outlet.” A 1990s study backs her: cops abuse families 2-4 times more than average. She hid her trauma from colleagues, fearing judgment.

Now, Brownlee coaches, speaks to prisons – starting federal visits this year – and lobbies for reform: banning guns for convicted abusers (potentially halving domestic homicides), a conviction registry for partners, and mandatory rehab.

“Abuse stems from their own trauma,” she says. “Treat roots, or symptoms return.”

Forgiveness freed her; she shared a room with her ex post-release, supporting their daughters at his mother’s funeral. No words exchanged.

An anonymous cop’s apology call – possibly one who abandoned her – stirred reflection: “Why didn’t you help? Imagine your daughter.”

Her daughters, 35 and 40, haven’t read the book yet; she shields them from triggers.

Splitting time between New York and the South, Brownlee walks 3.5 miles daily, leans on faith and therapy.

“This life I’ll never get over – I’ve learned to live with it.” Her gaze forward: “Dealt a losing hand, but I won.” For survivors, her mantra: Respond, don’t react. The fight continues.