Why did two people die by suicide in Yeadon police custody? Their families want answers.

The families of Shawn Morcho and Wendy Spence called Yeadon police for help. Their loved ones, they told dispatchers, were undergoing mental health crises.

The calls were made four months apart in the tiny Delaware County borough by people from different backgrounds and under different circumstances. But they ended with the same result: troubled people taken into custody and left unattended in a holding cell in the basement of Yeadon’s borough hall, where they died by suicide.

Now, after a review of the department’s handling of both cases by the county district attorney, the mayor and borough council president have called on the Justice Department to investigate. And the Morcho and Spence families have hired lawyers and are demanding answers about what they say was the department’s failure to protect vulnerable people at a time of distress.

“This is not an anti-police sentiment; we know the pressure of these jobs,” Morcho’s cousin, Joar Dahn, said in a recent interview. “But it’s our sentiment that when you accept these jobs, they come with great responsibility. And if they took that responsibility seriously, Shawn would still be here.”

Morcho’s family said the 22-year-old’s death in police custody on July 5 was a clear indication that Yeadon police were understaffed and ill-equipped to deal with a person in crisis. They have filed a federal lawsuit, accusing the department of ignoring his irrational behavior and by their inaction, causing his death. If the department’s practices and procedures do not change, the suit warns, more people could die.

Four months after Morcho hanged himself, Spence died in a Yeadon police holding cell under similar circumstances.

In November, Spence, a 34-year-old mother of two, told the officers who were taking her into custody after a domestic dispute that she was bipolar and threatened to kill herself if she was left alone, according to police. Her warnings went unheeded.

Her parents, Maritza and Brian, fault the officers on duty that day and say their actions reflect a gap in police training.

“Why would they not take a cry out for help seriously?” Maritza Spence asked. “You don’t take that lightly. You don’t hear somebody saying that they’re going to kill themselves and then say, ‘OK, whatever. You’re going to jail anyway.’ That’s inhuman.”

Borough officials declined to comment on the two cases, citing the pending lawsuits.

But they say they have taken steps to address the families’ concerns. People arrested by Yeadon police are no longer placed in basement holding cells in the tiny borough, but taken instead to the larger police station in nearby Upper Darby. And Yeadon borough officials recently ordered a review of its police department practices and policies and have recommended improvements. They declined to share the results, saying the recommendations are still under legal review.

All of that comes too late for the Morcho and Spence families, who are grieving the loss of their loved ones. Even as they push for accountability surrounding the deaths, they are open about the struggles their relatives faced in life.

“We saw in Wendy a very gifted young lady full of life who had been dampened by her mental illness,” Brian Spence said.

The Spences adopted Wendy and her two brothers from Maritza Spence’s native Venezuela. The children had been abandoned by their mother and faced further abuse in a group home, the couple said. Wendy, even at 7 years old, had become a natural caretaker and was fiercely protective of her brothers. It was difficult for her to relinquish that authority, they said, and she butted heads with her new parents.

As she got older, Spence struggled with mental health challenges and self-harm. She was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, PTSD, and borderline personality disorder, and spent her teenage years in different treatment centers.

» READ MORE: A woman in police custody in Yeadon was hospitalized after attempting to hang herself, officials said

“We did what we thought was right at the time, and we didn’t know what else to do,” Maritza Spence said. “From the first hospitalization, she just went in a downward spiral.”

At 15, she attempted suicide, according to her parents. After she turned 18, no longer bound to her parents’ attempts to get her help, she struck out on her own.

“We did bang heads a lot, but she was our daughter and I loved her dearly,” Brian Spence said. “And I longed for the day that she would, just like the prodigal son, come back.”

Spence was taken into custody on Nov. 8 after getting into a fight with her boyfriend and destroying property at his home in Yeadon, police said. Responding officers said Spence appeared to be intoxicated, was combative, and resisted their efforts to arrest her. She told the officers she was struggling with her mental health and feared she would harm herself, officials said.

Left alone in a cell in the basement of Yeadon Borough Hall, Spence hanged herself, police said, and 20 minutes passed before guards noticed and attempted to resuscitate her. She remained in a coma at Penn Presbyterian Medical Center until Nov. 17, when her parents made the painful decision to take her off life support.

The last time she spoke to her daughter, weeks before her death, Maritza Spence said she seemed to have “turn[ed] a corner.” For the first time, her mother said, Spence apologized for the hurt she had caused in her youth, and said she was trying to get help.

“It was just unbelievable,” Brian Spence said. “It’s something that we never felt we would hear, just because it was difficult for her to say ‘I’m sorry.’”

In much the same way as what happened with Spence, Morcho was taken into police custody after a call to police. His mother, Yahmae Carson, summoned officers during a dispute she was having with her son at the home they shared. He was acting irrationally, high on marijuana, and she wanted police to take him to a recovery center, according to the lawsuit filed by the family.

Instead of helping Morcho, whom the officers recognized from previous interactions, they arrested him for drug possession. The officers also learned that Morcho was wanted on a bench warrant for failing to appear in court for a simple assault case in Darby, so they took him to the police holding cell, where he remained as the officers prepared paperwork.

Left alone, Morcho hanged himself. He did so in full view of the cell’s surveillance cameras, the lawsuit said, but officers didn’t notice or intervene until 47 minutes later.

Dahn, Morcho’s cousin, said the death was a sad end to a promising young life. Morcho’s family emigrated from their native Liberia and settled in Delaware County. And while he had struggled with his mental health in the past, he had recently shown stability, and was looking forward to a large family reunion in Minnesota.

“What happened to Sean could have happened to anybody,” Dahn said. “And if changes aren’t implemented in this borough, it could happen again.”

This story contains references to suicide. If you or someone you know is thinking of suicide, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255 or text TALK to the Crisis Text Line at 741741.