Hi, Crime Junkies. I'm your host, Ashley Flowers, and I'm Brett.

And the story I have for you today is about a woman who spent six years in a relationship

that got increasingly more violent, with a man feared by pretty much everyone in their

small community, but her path to freedom is anything but a straight line. This is the

story of Billy Stafford and Jane Hirschman.

It's March 12, 1982, and a man named Carl Croft is on his way to work in Liverpool, Nova

Scotia, which is this tiny town on Canada's east coast, walking along the country road,

when he sees a truck pulled over on the shoulder. At first, he thinks it probably belongs to

one of his neighbors. The long, dirt driveway gets so muddy in the spring that people really

can't even use them, so sometimes they'll just park on the main road and walk home. But

the thing is, Carl doesn't recognize this specific car. What he does recognize immediately,

though, is something on the door. Blood. His first thought is someone must have gotten

into an accident, but there's no real tell-tale signs of an accident. There's no tire marks,

there's no damage. Carl glances in the window as he walks past and realizes there's

someone inside, slumped way over to the left with his head almost laying in the driver's

seat. Carl doesn't think so. Not to mention, the man isn't moving an inch, so that along

with the blood sends him racing to the nearest neighbor's place to see if there's anyone

who can help. And together, they drive back down the main road to check things out.

And they don't call 911 first. Well, no, and I'm not entirely sure why, to be honest,

but my gut is thinking, like, again, they're trying not to over-react. This could just

be like a guy napping. It doesn't feel necessarily like an emergency yet. Yeah, and maybe they

just want to get a good look around before the cops come. Yeah, there's maybe a little

...