A call comes in. A child has been beaten, or sexually assaulted, or locked in a closet.

The clock starts ticking.

The state Department of Social Services has as few as two hours in the most serious cases — as many as 24 in the least — to get an investigator out in the field.

The department tries to find the child and see whether she’s all right, tries to interview siblings, tries to keep adults from coaching one another — or the children.

In the worst-case scenario, investigators must be ready to pick up a child, put her in a car seat and take her from her home.

One of those investigators is Karen Timmons, a 33-year-old caseworker with DSS’ Richland County office.

She has 38 open cases — almost four times the number recommended by federal guidelines and almost twice what she had when she started. When asked how she’s coping, she pauses.

“To stay focused, I think of putting the child in a better place,” she said. “I pray. But I don’t have an answer. I don’t know how I’m managing.”

Timmons keeps her open case files in a mass on her desk, loose in her corduroy shoulder bag, piled on the front seat of her car.

She keeps the memories of the interviews behind her eyes as she goes to sleep. Each case is not just one child, but a family.

In many cases, a child who might be abused has siblings who also could be suffering or who are the subject of past DSS investigations.

Timmons goes to schools to pull children out of class; she goes to busy street corners, looking for parents; she goes to so-and-so’s grandma’s house to find people who are avoiding her.

Timmons loves the work. She knows how it affects families — she adopted a niece who was in foster care.

But she struggles, especially as more children need her help and she has less time for them. She cannot spend the time she would like interviewing shy or troubled children. She cannot make repeat visits to houses, searching for recalcitrant parents.

“I’m burnt, I’m not going to lie to you,” Timmons said.

‘ASKED ... TO DO MORE WITH LESS’

For children in crisis, this is a difficult time — the confluence of a bad economy and state budget cuts.

Prentis Percell, Timmons’ co-worker who supervises emergency call-takers, said it seems like bad times bring out the worst in people.

“They don’t have money to provide for their families; they take out their frustrations on their children,” Percell said. “At the same time, (the state) has asked us to do more with less.”

Compounding the problem, further expected budget cuts for next fiscal year would mean the department’s state funding will have been cut by 40 percent in four years. Most of those cuts are in personnel — there are 1,300 fewer workers at DSS, down to 3,600.

Those state cuts also bring a loss of federal matching funds — another $60 million. State funding is now $88 million, not including money that passes through to non-DSS programs.

Those budget cuts mean:

• Hiring freezes and jobs that stay open for years

• Fewer resources, with workers buying their own pens and paper or using their own car seats when they take custody of babies

• No salary increases — merit or cost-of-living — for three years; the starting pay for a job like Timmons’ is $24,000.

Most critically, though, budget cuts mean caseloads continue to climb.

RISKS INCREASE AS RESOURCES SHRINK

That means children are not getting the protection they deserve, a fact acknowledged by DSS director Kim Aydlette.

Aydlette is warning state legislators that her agency might not be able to stave off an impending crisis if more cuts come next year.

She is reluctant to tie budget cuts to two recent child deaths, saying her workers are obliged to do their jobs, even under difficult circumstances.

But, she says, “I’m afraid that, sooner or later, the risk of harm to children and to vulnerable adults increases. The more resources you lose, the more likely you’re not going to be able to do things.”

Timmons and her co-workers question whether even more budget cuts will mean their jobs.

Already the team she works with has shrunk from 11 investigators to seven — as few as two or three on days when people are absent or on call at night.

In the meantime, Timmons tries to cover calls as best she can.

She can rarely take a state car when visiting homes and schools; there are 11 cars for 44 workers, who spend much of their time in the field.

So she sets out in her own car, even though it also needs repair. If the Legislature follows through on plans to give employees a 3 percent raise, that would just about cover her $600 repair bill.

‘A SMILE WILL TAKE YOU A LONG WAY’

Last week, Timmons visited an elementary school to search for a child, hoping the girl did not have cuts or bruises — not only because she wanted the child to be all right, but also because she didn’t have one of the agency’s five Polaroid cameras with her.

No digital cameras, though that would be nice. But the computer system is mired in the 1980s. The filing system, with more than 1 million files, is almost all paper.

In just one hour, on just one afternoon, Timmons visited a child whose brother was said to have been choked. The child herself once had been a DSS client, when she was molested by a relative.

Timmons next visited a mother who had been ducking her. The woman yelled at Timmons for 15 minutes, virtually uninterrupted. Timmons smiled throughout.

“You can be very frightened, but you smile,” she said. “A smile will take you a long way in this business.”

She left knowing there is little she can do. The mother is within her rights to pull her son out of school almost every day. Timmons had to investigate but can take little action.

After an initial visit, she has 45 days for follow-up and a decision on a case. She advises whether it is legitimate, whether a child or family needs treatment, and whether a child needs foster care.

Some evenings, Timmons takes paperwork home with her. Two nights a month, she catches overnight call duty, a stepped-up rotation now that fewer caseworkers are in the mix.

The work reminds her to appreciate the three children waiting for her at home — ages 16, 9 and 2.

“It constantly reminds me to go home and hug my kids and tell them, ‘I love you.’”

Reach Bauerlein at (803) 771-8485 or vbauerlein@thestate.com.