Focus on high-risk cases

Team approach brings 39 agencies' services to victims in Springs

Published February 9, 2005 at midnight

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Intensive monitoring: Probation officer Gary Burgin, in foreground, makes a visit to Lisa Maes in Aurora last month. Burgin supervises Maes as part of an innovative domestic violence program to track those at high risk of re-offending. The program operates in the 18th Judicial District, which encompasses Arapahoe, Douglas, Elbert and Lincoln counties.

Story by Sarah Huntley

Photos by Linda McConnell

Those who work in the domestic violence movement know it takes more than police to protect the most vulnerable of victims.

To borrow from a familiar phrase, it takes a village.

That's the philosophy behind programs designed to tackle high-risk offenders — the abusers law enforcement officials fear the most, the cases where the stakes could well be a matter of life and death.

In Colorado, there are a number of initiatives working to address violence within this population. But one of the more ambitious and sweeping is based in Colorado Springs.

DVERT, which stands for the Domestic Violence Enhanced Response Team, brings together 39 agencies inside and outside law enforcement.

The team attempts to "wrap the victim in services of all types," said Sgt. Cari Graves, who oversees DVERT.

A startling reality formed the basis for the program: research that showed arrests, by themselves, aren't likely to break the entrenched cycle of abuse.

Sgt. Howard Black of the Colorado Springs Police Department helped coordinate a study of how mandatory arrests had affected his city in the early 1990s.

The theory behind mandatory arrest was simple: If there was evidence a crime had been committed, police should react firmly, and offenders would be less likely to abuse again.

"I have to tell you, I was shocked," Black said. "What we found was that it really didn't make a difference. It didn't matter whether we restored order or made an arrest."

Black and others in Colorado Springs began searching for answers. Advocates didn't want to desert efforts to hold offenders accountable, but they realized victims needed more.

They needed food and housing. Child and pet care. Parenting and job training. Meaningful follow-up by the strong arm of the law.

With DVERT, each case is assigned to a team that includes children's advocates, housing representatives, a police officer or sheriff's deputy, a prosecutor, sometimes even a volunteer from the Humane Society. Many of the team members are housed in the same building, separate from police headquarters.

"It takes a community to really develop (a plan)," said Black, who ran the program for seven years. "It isn't just the police coming in, saying 'We'll do what's best for you. We know.'"

Because the process is time-consuming, DVERT focuses only on cases it identifies as the most volatile.

In Colorado Springs, that amounts to about 170 intensive cases, which demand daily work for as long as four months at a time. The teams also take on 200 to 250 lower-level cases a year.

That's a fraction of the city's domestic violence caseload. Last year, Colorado Springs police fielded 15,000 to 20,000 domestic violence calls, Graves said. Those calls produced about 3,800 arrests, both misdemeanors and felonies, she said. During the same period, referrals to DVERT — which come from law enforcement, courts, social services and the area's crisis hotline — doubled.

Craig Uchida, a researcher who studied DVERT a few years ago, admitted he was skeptical that a police department could change its arrest-oriented focus.

"But that's the important difference here," said Uchida, who currently heads Justice and Security Strategies, a think tank in Maryland. "It's more than just a criminal justice sanction that DVERT is wanting and willing to give. It was more, 'We have to do what is in the best interest of this family.'"

The biggest challenge is identifying the cases that need intervention most.

"When you are looking at lethality or risk, it is incredibly complicated," Black said.

Some counselors argue it is near impossible.

"We have no real way of assessing lethality," said longtime treatment provider Nancy Lantz, who recalled a Denver case where a woman and her boyfriend were killed by her ex-husband two years after they separated. The homicide was the first violent incident in the couple's history, she said. The man then committed suicide.

But some factors appear to be good indicators that a couple is headed down a potentially deadly path.

DVERT focuses on a variety of issues, including previous arrests, the status of the relationship, whether the offender is employed and evolving research that shows a connection between stalking and escalating violence, Graves said.

Difficulties in replicating initiatives

As with many domestic violence programs, finding quantitative ways to evaluate success is difficult.

Uchida, who studied DVERT during its beginning years, said he was unable to get a handle on recidivism unless an offender was re-arrested by a DVERT officer. The system wasn't sophisticated enough at the time to track subsequent contact with police, particularly if someone moved outside El Paso County.

But Black said he's been pleased by the progress that can be measured.

"Did we stop homicides from happening? No," the sergeant said. "That's pretty hard. But in six years of identifying the most dangerous players, we never had a death in the (DVERT) caseload."

One of the saddest aspects of domestic violence homicides is that many of those who die never come to the attention of the court system or advocacy centers.

"They are not even on the radar. They aren't even calling," Black said.

For those in the DVERT program, however, the results have been positive.

"One thing I can say with confidence is that when these perpetrators knew they were being watched, they would push up against the line in some cases, but for the most part, they were making choices not to act out," Black said.

Replicating these initiatives is almost as challenging as creating them.

DVERT, in particular, is expensive. The yearly budget runs a little more than $1 million, 62 percent of which is funded through federal grants, Graves said. And it isn't just a matter of money and people. Collaborations require buy-in from a variety of groups, some of which have been historically antagonistic.

"It's difficult to get people to the table," Uchida said. "Within the violence-against-women movement, there's a lot of angst and anger, I think, with respect to the police, both in terms of what they do and don't do. I think that continually lingers."

But DVERT and other programs show it can be done, if organizations are willing to engage in what Black calls "an institutional shift in thinking."

"It's an ongoing dialogue," he said.

huntleys@RockyMountainNews.com or 303-892-5212

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