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Officer tried to work with mentally ill man before May double homicide

Wisconsin State Journal (Madison, WI) - 8/10/2014

Aug. 10--The Route 6 Metro Transit bus rolled down East Washington Avenue early on the afternoon of May 2 and pulled up to a stop near Milwaukee Street, when passengers noticed a man bleeding outside.

Marcquies Theus, 20, had been stabbed in the arm and side before he escaped his nearby apartment where a neighbor was attacking his mother and sister.

Madison Police Officer Carlin Becker and Sgt. Dave McClurg were a few blocks away when they got the call. They arrived at the intersection and found another officer treating Theus, who was screaming, "He killed my whole family," and pointing them toward the second-floor apartments at 2617 E. Washington Ave.

"Of course, I know that's the building Londrell lives in," Becker said recently, recalling her thoughts during the incident. "I know this building, I know that he lives here, I know it's likely that he's involved."

Londrell was 33-year-old Londrell Johnson, a mentally ill man Becker had been working with since the previous fall.

Becker kept a file on Johnson in her squad car.

She knew that he liked to be called "J." That he lived on the

second floor of the building. That he had problems with his neighbors, his landlord and the police, often borne out of his own delusions.

She didn't know that, according to family members, Johnson had recently stopped taking medications, or that he would knock on his sleeping neighbors' doors at 3 or 4 in the morning, and tell them to stop making noise and whispering his name through the walls.

Becker, and the rest of Madison, would come to learn that on the afternoon of May 2, Johnson broke into his neighbors' apartment, fatally stabbed two women -- Charity and Robin Grossmann -- and wounded Theus.

When police searched Johnson's apartment hours after the stabbing, they found he had hand-written notes about his anger with his neighbors and police, including a threat that in his next encounter with officers, "They won't be taking me alive."

Passengers on the Route 6 bus saw officers go up a back staircase and into the apartment; they soon heard gunfire from the building.

Johnson had advanced toward Becker and McClurg, holding the knife he had just used to stab three people.

The officers fired, killing him.

Johnson's shooting was the second time in 24 hours that authorities in Dane County used deadly force against a mentally ill person in the midst of a violent crisis, and the third time in as many days that a mentally ill person had been killed by Wisconsin officers.

The incidents, officials said, cast a light once more on the flaws in a mental health system that too often leaves illnesses untreated and forces jails and police officers to pick up the slack.

O

fficers' efforts to help

Johnson's family members would tell police that he had suffered from a mental illness that made him "excited and paranoid" for years.

Authorities have declined to specify the illness , and references to a specific diagnosis are redacted in police reports provided to the State Journal.

In September of last year, Johnson's case worker reached out to Madison police Capt. Kristen Roman, who coordinates the department's mental health efforts, to set up a meeting between Johnson and police.

A number of violent incidents and disorderly conduct charges meant police were already familiar with Johnson, while Roman said a prior arrest left him distrustful of officers, who he believed were targeting him.

But the meeting, which included Roman, Becker, Johnson and his case worker, seemed to end with Johnson feeling better about police.

"He felt he had somebody who knew his story -- who had taken the time to sit and hear him out," Roman said.

Becker, one of the department's mental health liaison officers, was matched up with Johnson.

Those 20 or so officers, spread throughout the city, work one-on-one with mentally ill people, reviewing officer reports if they're involved with police, tracking trends that could point to worsening illnesses and doing proactive work, reaching out when there's not a crisis unfolding.

They're meant to be a resource for their fellow officers -- by knowing people with mental illnesses and their stories -- and also for those mentally ill subjects, by helping them find treatment and other assistance.

Becker became a liaison officer in 2010, a couple of years after she joined the department.

"You're a community partner," she said. "It's challenging work, but it's very satisfying because you're doing what you're meant to do as an MPD officer."

Jails, police pick up slack

The hope is that the liaison officers add one more layer to the support system for those with mental illness who wind up in trouble with police, Roman said. That's what happened in Johnson's case, she said.

Of course, in an overburdened mental health care system, that's not typical.

Dave DeLapp, a clinical team manager for Journey Mental Health Center's Community Treatment Alternatives program, says a combination of stagnant funding and a growing county means there just aren't enough treatment slots available for people who need it.

Jails and police are left to pick up the slack, officials say.

Using high-profile incidents such as the East Washington stabbing to call attention to issues related to mental health care has a downside, he said, because doing so feeds the notion that the mentally ill are exceptionally violent. DeLapp and Roman both pointed out that mentally ill people are far more likely to be victims of crimes than to be perpetrators.

And despite the focus on high-profile incidents, the system hasn't improved, DeLapp said.

No warning before attack

On May 2, Marcquies Theus was in his bathroom cleaning up before going to meet some friends.

His sister, Charity Grossmann, 34, was visiting the apartment for the afternoon and putting her roommate's 4-year-old son down for a nap. Theus' mother, Robin Grossmann, 57, was in the kitchen.

Theus lived with Robin Grossmann in one of three apartments on the second floor of 2617 E. Washington Ave. A man who was rarely at the building lived in another, and Johnson lived in the third.

Former tenants would tell police that living next to Johnson was "terrifying," because he'd pound on his walls and yell inside his apartment. Theus said he tried to keep his distance from Johnson.

Sometime around 12:45 p.m., Johnson bashed Theus and Grossmann's front door with a hammer and forced his way inside.

Johnson said nothing, Theus told police, and walked straight to the bedroom, where he stabbed Charity. Robin and Theus tried to stop him, but Theus fled to get help after he too was stabbed. Johnson would later attack Robin Grossmann as well.

The 4-year-old hid during the incident and was not injured.

Officer Michele Walker was the first responder to arrive at the building, where she treated Theus and wrapped a tourniquet around his badly bleeding arm. An emergency room nurse would later say Walker's aid likely saved Theus' life.

McClurg and Becker arrived next, climbing a back staircase to the second floor, where they heard a noise coming from one of the units.

Johnson had broken into his other neighbor's apartment, but the man wasn't home.

As Becker and McClurg faced Johnson, who was holding the knife, ignoring commands to drop it and coming at the officers, Becker said the work she had done to help him didn't matter.

"It's just a really big guy with a knife at this point, and it's a threat that's advancing, so you know there's not time to think about that," Becker said. "You're reacting to the threat at that point."

She and McClurg shot Johnson in the chest and legs. He later died at a Madison hospital.

Officer doesn't doubt self

Becker said it's human nature to look back in hindsight for missed signals or something that could've been done differently to prevent a tragedy like the May 2 stabbing.

But one thing she doesn't do, Becker said, is doubt herself for firing as Johnson advanced on her and McClurg.

"Londrell made the choices he made that day," Becker said. "Everything that I did was in reaction to his choices. So that was not even in my hands.

"There was one choice, and we made the right choice," she said. "If I did second-guess any of that, I would have a much more difficult time being able to process what happened."

The state Division of Criminal Investigation led the inquiry into the shooting, and both District Attorney Ismael Ozanne and an internal MPD review would clear Becker and McClurg of any wrongdoing.

The two have since returned to normal duty -- McClurg as a sergeant in the department's North District, and Becker as a relief officer in the South District and all over the city.

Becker has also gone back to her work as a mental health liaison officer, working with the mentally ill and helping patch the holes in a faltering system.

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