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Elsa gave a slight shudder. “The world has become such a frightening place. It’s no wonder companies have to protect themselves against workplace violence.”
“Is that what your seminar was about?” Burt asked, looking mildly surprised. “I thought you trained people in crisis management.”
“I do. That includes companies as well. Your mother’s right. The pressures of today’s world have resulted in an increase in workplace violence. Employees need to be prepared to deal with the possibility.”
“Right.” Burt digested that. “How can you spot a potential loose cannon? Are there signs?”
“Usually, yes. Emotional withdrawal, mood swings, uncharacteristic tension, displays of temper. The tricky part is for the right people to pick up on those signs, and their severity, before it’s too late.” Sloane set down her cup. “Those closest to the subject often don’t recognize how serious the situation is until it’s too late. On the flip side, casual acquaintances—which, unfortunately, usually include coworkers—don’t know the subject well enough to spot the telltale signs.”
“So the psychos go undetected.”
“Frequently, yes. But psychos is a pretty extreme term. Not everyone who takes hostages falls into that category. Every human being has a breaking point. The challenge is to realize when someone has reached his or hers—before it’s too late.”
“That’s a charitable assessment.” Burt rose to give the dogs their seconds.
“Just an objective one,” Sloane returned factually. “That’s not to say that subjects who take hostages are stable. They’re not. But the point is moot. Full psychological evaluations are done by the experts—after the crisis is over. While it’s ongoing, assessing the subject’s mental health is essential only as it pertains to ending the crisis quickly and nonviolently.”
“And how do you manage that? If a guy is barricaded in his office with hostages and a weapon, how do you talk him out?”
“By listening and tailoring my responses to what I hear. The subject has emotions, frustrations, and usually demands he wants to express. My job is to listen, and to establish a line of communication.”
“How?” Elsa asked, turning up her palms in puzzlement. “If you tell him you understand what he’s done, won’t he realize you’re just humoring him?”
“That’s why I don’t. Rather than emotional support, I offer emotional observation. I don’t say, ‘I understand’; I say, ‘You sound frustrated.’ It conveys my awareness that he’s going through something, without saying that the way he’s chosen to display it is okay. It’s called emotional labeling. It’s one of what the FBI’s Crisis Negotiation Unit refers to as ‘active listening skills.’ I learned it when I trained.”
“And you teach that to laypeople?” Burt inquired.
“Both in theory and in practice,” Sloane confirmed. “It’s like a lab course. There are classroom lectures and simulated barricades. It’s a total process. When I finish up and head home, I’m confident that my clients are educated in how to react to a workplace hostage situation—both before the authorities arrive and after, should their assistance be required. They’ll do what they can to control the situation, and when the pros do arrive, they’ll work with them to achieve a happy ending.”
“All that sounds so impressive.” Elsa’s sincerity was evident. But so was her exhaustion. Her lids had begun drooping as Sloane finished up her explanation, and now her voice had grown weaker. She looked and sounded as if she were fading.
It was late. And, despite her best intentions, Elsa was tired.
Sloane feigned a yawn. “The Bureau trained me well. Even so, intensive seminars like these take their toll. I’m wiped.”
A faint, knowing smile touched Elsa’s lips. “I doubt that.”
“Don’t. Between working round the clock since yesterday at dawn, and two shuttle flights, I’m not only beat, I’m dying for a hot shower.” Sloane hoped she sounded convincing.
As it turned out, Curly came to her rescue.
Having polished off his second biscuit, he scrambled over, gripped her pant leg tightly between his teeth, and began tugging with all his might.
The perfect out.
“I think I’m being summoned,” Sloane noted, freeing her pant leg and standing up. “The doggy treats are gone, along with their patience. I’ll clear the table and do the dishes. After that, I’d better take these three home.”
“Nonsense.” Elsa rose, waving away Sloane’s offer. “It’ll take me ten minutes to finish up in the kitchen. You go collect the hounds’ things. They’re in the rec room.”
“No, I insist.” Sloane was already carrying china over to the sink. “You’re a wonderful hostess. But you’ve done more than enough. Please go up to bed. I’ll take care of everything and be out of here in twenty minutes.”
“But you’ve worked nonstop,” Elsa protested. “You just said you were exhausted. You need to get some sleep.”
“I need to, yes. But it won’t be happening.” Sloane was efficiently washing and drying the cups and saucers. “I’ve got a pile of work waiting for me on my desk. So I’ll get that hot shower, but sleep’s relegated to the back burner, at least for tonight.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” Elsa’s eyelids were at half-mast as she scooped up Princess Di.
“I’m sure. Thank you so much for taking care of my little terrors.” Sloane leaned forward to scratch Princess Di’s ears. “And thank you, too, Your Highness.”
