Health Communication, 29: 837–839, 2014

Copyright © Taylor & Francis Group, LLC

ISSN: 1041-0236 print / 1532-7027 online
DOI: 10.1080/10410236.2013.796437

DEFINING MOMENTS

A Crisis in Counseling: Questioning the Role of Crisis

Counselors Within Police Departments
Angela S. Jacobs
Department of Communication Studies
Eastern Illinois University

This essay highlights the author’s personal journey through suicide loss and the subsequent
police investigation of her spouse’s death. Through a recounting of the loss itself, and details of
the police interrogation and attempts at crisis counseling, the author demonstrates how current
police protocol and crisis counseling initiatives may (re)victimize trauma survivors.

The crisis counselor sat in front of me, watching me intently.
I knew what he was after, what he wanted me to say. He
claimed he was there to assist me, to comfort me during
my time of crisis. But I knew differently. He wanted a
confession.
The counselor spent an hour asking, “is there anything
else you need to tell me about your husband?” At first I
didn’t understand his question. I told him about the fights
that had occurred the days leading up to the event; how
we fought about my suspicions of marital infidelity. “Mm
hmm,” was his response, head nodding as he hurriedly
wrote. I told him that I asked my husband for a divorce.
“Mmmmmm,” he said. Eyebrows lifted, pen still. When I
failed to disclose more information he repeated, “Is there
anything else?” The pen hovered over the paper. The truth
was, I had more questions than answers. Questions I needed
answered. Mostly, I wanted to know why. But when I
opened my mouth, all I could say was, “There’s nothing
else.” I hated the sight of the pen. I didn’t want to talk
to this counselor any longer. He didn’t seem interested in
answering my questions, in any case. Only one question
consumed him . . . is there anything else?
This repeated, slightly accusatory question was a defin-
ing moment in my life. It was a straightforward question,
“Is there anything else?” And yet, it carried profound impli-
cations. It transformed my grief into fear. “Is there anything
Correspondence should be addressed to Angela S. Jacobs, Department
of Communication Studies, Eastern Illinois University, 600 Lincoln Avenue,
Charleston, IL 61920. E-mail: asjacobs@eiu.edu
else” implied suspicion. It quite literally transformed my sta-
tus as victim to perpetrator. The counselor wasn’t there to
comfort me. He was there to rule out the possibility that I
committed murder.
Hours earlier my husband committed suicide. He took his
service revolver and shot himself. Our four children and I
were in the home at the time. Time stopped the moment I
heard the weapon discharge. Of course, I pretended I didn’t
hear it at first. I forced myself to believe it was a loud crash,
like a dresser falling. But somewhere deep within, I knew.
The sound was “all wrong” for a falling dresser. I stepped
into the hallway, not sure what to do or say. I yelled for
the kids. “Was that a dresser falling?” When I didn’t get an
answer, I walked to the stair landing and called down, “Was
that a dresser?” My 9-year-old son answered back. He didn’t
know what the noise was either, but everyone had heard it.
In the silence that followed, a gut-wrenching truth waited
to be acknowledged. The sound came from the bedroom, the
place where Brian lay, refusing to come out. I hesitated out-
side the door, not wanting to go inside. Only, I had to. We had
been arguing and I knew he was upset. I opened the door
slowly; the room was partially lit. Black curtains hung on the
windows. Brian worked the evening shift and slept during
the day. We hung the black curtains to block out the sun-
light. My eyes were immediately drawn to the bed. It took
a moment to adjust to the darkness. There, with the covers
pulled up over his shoulders, was Brian’s silhouette. He was
curled onto his right side as if he were sleeping. His left hand
lay outside the blankets at his side, motionless. A gun, firmly
gripped in his hand, stared menacingly back at me.
838 JACOBS
“Brian?” I called softly. I waited. I expected him to moan
or say something, but he just lay still. “Brian?” This time I
could only whimper. A paralyzing detachment settled over
me; everything seemed surreal. My mind fought against the
acknowledgment of what my heart already knew. Brian was
gone. Reluctantly, I looked up toward Brian’s head. I didn’t
want to, but I needed to know. A small red stain was forming
at his temple. I ran for the phone.
The horrific sound of the gunshot, the awful moment of
discovery, my frantic call to 911, the desperate attempt to
usher the kids outside so they would not see their father, and
the long ride to the police department were surpassed only by
the counselor’s outrageous questioning. As I now understood
it, I was a suspect to murder.
Immediately following the counselor’s questioning,
police officers took my fingerprints and tested for gunpow-
der residue. They also demanded my clothing, right down
to and including my socks and shoes. The police chief apol-
ogized and assured me I’d done nothing wrong. He simply
had to follow protocol. Yet he could not genuinely do his job
because Brian, my husband, was also a police officer. The
local police department could not legally investigate a fel-
low officer’s death. A state investigation was required. State
police detained me for 9 hours as they conducted the investi-
gation. They questioned me about the series of events leading
up to Brian’s death. They called in our children one by one
and asked them questions. This line of questioning terrified
the children, but investigators required I submit them to this
interrogation anyway. My youngest was only 2 years old at
the time of his father’s passing. I cannot recall counseling
being offered to my children.
As I have since learned, suicide is almost always treated
as suspicious and requires a thorough investigation. When a
suicide death occurs by firearm, investigators will likely dust
for fingerprints on the weapon and will test for gunpowder
residue on the victim’s hands. If a suspect is involved, the
suspect is also subjected to such testing. All evidence pointed
to a suicide in my husband’s case. Investigators informed me
of this at the completion of a long, 9-hour ordeal. In fact, they
knew this information from the beginning. My fingerprints
were not on the weapon; gunpowder was on my husband’s
hands, but not on mine; and my story corroborated with
my oldest children’s stories; we were nowhere near Brian
when he took his own life. This conclusion was not official,
however, until investigators exhausted all other possibilities
beyond the fact that Brian, alone, committed this act.
It is important to note that law enforcement protocol
and thorough investigations are imperative in cases such as
mine. I do not disagree with the department’s need to con-
duct an investigation; I do have concerns, however, about
the way it was handled. I felt victimized by the interroga-
tion process. My children and I were survivors of a suicide
loss in need of immediate support; instead, the investigation
took precedence. Research shows that individuals who wit-
ness a suicide are at high risk for developing posttraumatic
stress disorder (PTSD) and other anxiety-related disorders
(McIntosh, 1993). Such individuals require immediate cri-
sis intervention. While evidence has been inconclusive about
the benefits of immediate crisis intervention (Young, Fuller,
& Riley, 2008), the accepted protocol is to provide imme-
diate crisis counseling to reduce or prevent PTSD in vic-
tims of traumatic experiences. At a minimum, researchers
propose psychological first aid (PFA) as an alternative to
immediate crisis intervention following a traumatic event
(Ruzek, Brymer, Jacobs, Layne, Verberg, & Watson, 2007).
PFA involves engaging in conversation with the survivor
in a meaningful way, gathering information, offering sup-
port, addressing immediate questions and concerns, and in
general, helping the survivor cope with the traumatic event.
My case suggests that in the context of a police investiga-
tion the typical crisis counseling priorities are reordered. The
police investigation took priority over any crisis interven-
tion, and the counseling that was provided was inadequate.
A review of literature of on-scene counseling units indi-
cates that many police departments do not have specialized
response teams or protocols for handling crisis interven-
tion (Deane, Steadman, Borum, Veysey, & Morrisey, 1999).
When departments do have counselors on hand, they may
not be fully equipped to deal with suicide survivor issues.
My experience suggests that perhaps there is uncertainly
about crisis counselors’ roles when assigned in law enforce-
ment agencies, that perhaps counselors operate more from
the perspective of the criminal justice rather than the behav-
ioral health system. In my case, the crisis counselor showed
no concern for my suffering or emotional state. He did not
help me understand why my husband might attempt and
complete suicide. He only wanted to know what details I was
withholding.
More scholarly research is needed to understand, first
and foremost, the availability of crisis counseling within
law enforcement agencies. Second, and equally important,
is a need for a deeper understanding of how law enforce-
ment agencies are addressing the needs of individuals who
have experienced trauma situations such as suicide loss.
As my experience attests, current police protocol in handling
suicide cases seems to be a dangerous practice. Suicide sur-
vivors’ feelings of blame and guilt may complicate police
investigations and lead to greater mental health issues for
survivors. The accusatory nature of police investigations
may exacerbate the tendency for self-blame following a sui-
cide death. Health communication scholars, in particular,
are well situated to address these issues in terms of how
law enforcement agencies and local crisis counselors can
effectively work together. More research and theory from
a health communication perspective can address ways that
law enforcement agencies and crisis counselors can offer
support, answer questions, and provide resources to suicide
survivors, while also retaining police investigative protocol.
Additional research could address how to counsel children
suicide survivors, even as they themselves are subjected to

police investigation procedures. It is critical that a coun-
selor’s questioning should never appear more supportive
of police protocol (i.e., supportive of the criminal justice
system) than a trauma survivor’s immediate needs (i.e.,
behavior health issues).
Is there anything else? This question burns in my mind.
At the end of a long day, as I stood naked in the police
department bathroom, stripped of my clothes and my dig-
nity, the only question that remained was, is there anything
else? An October chill hangs in the air; the cold bathroom
floor stings my bare feet. I look intently at the woman in the
mirror now, not sure whether I feel sorry for her or whether
I hate her. “I’m sorry,” the woman in the mirror says back to
me. Her shoulders shudder; she begins to cry. I cannot look
at her anymore. I turn away and pace. Is there anything else?
Goosebumps rise. Is there anything else? Back and forth.
I am aware of my nakedness, completely exposed to who-
ever or whatever may enter the bathroom. I cross my arms
over my chest. Back and forth, I walk. Nothing keeps the
question at bay; is there anything else? My mother finds me
this way. She holds out my new clothes, looking uncertain as
to what to say. Finally, she says, “The investigators said you
can go home now.” I nod and take the clothes.
The department is dark now; everyone has gone home
after a busy day of work. One detective stands by the
DEFINING MOMENTS 839
doorway patiently waiting as my mother and my four
children and I leave the building. The cold October air hits
my face as we step outside. I wonder where we will go
from here. We can’t go home; our house is no longer our
home. The police department door locks behind me. The
detective smiles, then waves goodnight. It is the end of a
business-as-usual day for him. I shiver. It is the beginning of
nothing-as-usual for me. I look out at the empty, dark park-
ing lot. The question, is there anything else, weighs heavy on
my heart as we walk away.
REFERENCES
Deane, M., Steadman, H., Borum, R., Veysey, B., & Morrissey, J. (1999).
Emerging partnerships between mental health and law enforcement.
Psychiatric Services, 50, 99–101.
McIntosh, J. L. (1993). Control group studies of suicide survivors:
A review and critique. Suicide & Life Threatening Behavior, 23,
146–161.
Ruzek, J., Brymer, M., Jacobs, A., Layne, C., Vernberg, E., & Watson, P.
(2007). Psychological first aid. Journal of Mental Health Counseling, 29,
17–49.
Young, A., T., Fuller, J., & Riley, B. (2008, October). On-scene men-
tal health counseling provided through police departments. Journal of
Mental Health Counseling, 30, 345–361.
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