A welfare check meant to protect a woman in crisis instead left her with a broken arm and a federal lawsuit against the officer who restrained her, raising fresh concerns about how police handle mental health emergencies.
When officers arrived, Kathleen Keitz, 35, was sitting in her boyfriend’s truck outside a Covington store last October. A friend had dialed 911 after receiving texts from Keitz hinting at suicidal thoughts, sparked by news of her partner’s infidelity. What started as a conversation quickly spiraled. Officer Douglas Ullrich asked Keitz to step out for a pat-down, citing weapons-related concerns. She hesitated, her voice rising with frustration.
“This is why I don’t talk to cops,”
She referenced an earlier run-in with police that day, where she felt deceived.
Tensions peaked as Ullrich insisted she comply.
“If you don’t step out, I’m gonna pull you out of the car, and I really don’t want to do it,”
He warned. Keitz exited but pushed back verbally, her anger boiling from the surprise encounter.
“You lied earlier,”
She accused, alluding to officers allegedly misleading her during a visit to her apartment. Ullrich grabbed her arm to handcuff her, yanking it behind her back despite her pleas. Her resistance grew desperate as she twisted away.
“Stop! No! Why?”
She cried, her body thrashing against the force. In the chaos, her humerus snapped. Body camera footage captures the raw moment: Keitz collapsing to the ground, officers pinning her down while she screamed in agony.
“He broke my arm! My arm is broke!”
She wailed, her voice cracking with pain and betrayal.
“Why are you guys letting him hurt me? I didn’t do anything!”
Officers continued to hold her, ignoring her pleas as she sobbed uncontrollably, demanding release from the officer’s grip on her injured limb.
Paramedics rushed Keitz to the hospital, where doctors confirmed the fracture. She underwent surgery and spent weeks recovering, sidelined from work and grappling with the trauma. Now, in a federal lawsuit filed this summer, Keitz accuses Ullrich and the City of Covington of excessive force, false arrest, and neglecting her medical needs right after the injury. The suit also claims officers entered her home without a warrant earlier that evening, violating her rights under the Fourth and Fourteenth Amendments. She seeks $500,000 in damages for medical bills, lost income, and emotional suffering.
This case marks at least the seventh time since 2021 that Ullrich, a 14-year veteran of the Covington force, has faced such allegations. Many stem from traffic stops where drivers, often from marginalized communities, describe aggressive tactics and claims of racial profiling. Attorneys point to a pattern: high-volume policing that prioritizes quick interventions but risks escalating routine encounters. Yet the department stands firm behind Ullrich. Officials have dismissed the latest accusations as “ridiculous,” praising his proactive approach to DUIs and community safety. No disciplinary records against him have surfaced publicly.
Keitz’s raw and unresolved story reminds us that trust in law enforcement frays fastest in moments of need. Her lawsuit presses forward in court, testing whether Covington will reckon with its patterns or double down on defense. For now, one woman’s broken bone echoes louder than any policy memo, demanding change that puts people first.
These encounters reveal a deeper flaw in how communities address vulnerability during crises. Welfare checks, intended as safeguards, too often turn confrontational when officers arrive without the right tools for de-escalation. A Washington Post investigation found that police responding to mental health calls resulted in at least 178 deaths between 2019 and 2021, highlighting the lethal stakes when empathy takes a backseat to enforcement. In Covington, the department’s use of force guidelines emphasize proportionality, but footage like Keitz’s suggests a disconnect between policy and practice. Cities adopting crisis intervention training programs have seen drops in injuries by up to 30 percent, proving that specialized response can save lives without sacrificing safety. Until departments invest in these reforms, stories like Keitz’s will keep surfacing, eroding trust one fractured bone at a time.