Gunman Targeted Girl Who Shielded Tot, D.C. Police Say
By Robert E. Pierre and Allison Klein
Washington Post Staff Writers
Sunday, August 27, 2006
Antonio Jackson hates the street culture that killed his cousin: hard stares, petty beefs after go-gos and the code of silence that rules in murder's aftermath.
So when more than 100 people gathered around the spot where Cynthia Gray, 17, died in an execution-style killing on Benning Road in Southeast Washington, he lashed out in anger -- at thugs who kill without fear, at indifferent police officers, at a national government distracted by terrorism and wars and at neighbors and friends who are too afraid to speak up.
Gray died late Thursday protecting her 7-month-old godson, pushing him under a parked car seconds before she was shot in the face and head, police said. Police have made no arrests and have no suspects in the case.
"Somebody out here knows something about who did this," Jackson, 27, shouted as candles flickered against the all-too-familiar backdrop of heart-shaped balloons, pastel teddy bears and cognac bottles. "Y'all black people got to take the streets back."
Young girls sobbed heavily in the arms of loved ones during Friday night's vigil. Young men threatened retribution and scoffed at a resident who tried to get everyone to sing "Reach Out and Touch (Somebody's Hand)," the 1970s peace anthem. "It's too late for all that," one young man interrupted as members of the crowd began to gather and hold hands.
On display were the raw emotions that follow violent death: the exasperation, the fear, the frustration, the sense of alienation.
This killing garnered widespread attention and outrage because the victim was a 17-year-old girl whose last act was saving the life of a baby. The infant was not harmed. A 19-year-old woman and two 18-year-old men were wounded in the shooting but are expected to survive, police said.
Gray and the other teenagers were hanging out when the first gunshot was fired about 11:30 p.m. from a car. Police said yesterday that they believe Gray was targeted because the gunman got out of the car, passed by the three other victims who were on the ground bleeding, walked up to Gray and shot her several times at close range.
"There was an opportunity to kill everybody," said Capt. C.V. Morris, head of the police department's violent crimes unit. "This was done methodically."
Morris said police have yet to identify a motive, adding: "It was so vicious. It is very odd for a 17-year-old girl to get shot in the face several times."
Eastern Senior High School Principal Shawn A. Hearn said Gray, a popular student who was about to start her senior year, will be missed when school reopens tomorrow. Grief counselors will be available for students and teachers, he said.
Yesterday, Mayor Anthony A. Williams (D) visited Cynthia Gray's mother -- who is also named Cynthia Gray -- to offer his condolences. Family members were unimpressed, saying he should be doing more to protect people who live in lower-income Washington.
Clusters of people gathered in the courtyard of her apartment complex on 46th Street SE, a series of brick buildings marked with gang graffiti, including the moniker "Simple City." It's the name used to describe the area around the Benning Terrace public housing complex, where at least 65 people -- including a 12-year-old boy -- were killed between 1987 and 1997. A truce between warring gangs has largely held in recent years.
Some wondered if Gray's death signaled a new era of violence. Gray's family mulled over not only her horrific death but also the killing of her boyfriend, 17-year-old Ronnie Garner, exactly one month earlier. Garner was shot in the head in the 4700 block of Alabama Avenue SE, not far from where Gray was slain. Terrell Jones, 22, was also killed in that incident.
No one was arrested in those slayings. Although police said Gray was not known to have been a witness to her boyfriend's killing, friends wondered whether their slayings were connected. Police said they have established no link.
Garner's aunt, Pamela Baker, said yesterday that her nephew often spoke of wanting to die the same way his father did: being shot in the head. Garner's father, Ronnie Miles, was killed in 1993 as he picked up milk at a corner store for his son. Miles was wearing a bulletproof vest when he was shot.
"He was just like his father," Baker said. "He said he wanted to die like him, and that's what he did."
During Friday's vigil, police cruisers buzzed around, and a mobile police station was set up nearby. Outreach groups were hoping to head off any attempts at retaliation. Few, however, believed that the anger, or action, would have a lasting impact on street violence, an entrenched part of culture in large U.S. cities for decades.
"As long as blacks are killing blacks, nothing is going to happen," said Claudette Hall, 60, who served four years for second-degree murder and who attended the vigil. "If we started shooting whites, the National Guard would be out here. This is a black genocide. Why are we sending people to fight overseas when this is happening here?"
There have been 114 homicides this year; last year at this time, there were 121. In July, after a rash of killings, Police Chief Charles H. Ramsey declared a crime emergency, and the D.C. Council tightened the youth curfew and agreed to install cameras in some neighborhoods. But there has been a consistent cry from those who work directly with youths that more must be done to keep them active.
"You can't just come into a community after a shooting and say, 'We're here, so stop the violence,' " said Ronald Moten, a co-founder of Peaceoholics, which takes an active role trying to mediate violence between rival neighborhoods, in part by giving youths jobs.
Ernestine Randolph, Gray's grandmother, said parents are partly to blame. She said the death opens wounds still raw from the slayings in the early 1990s of two of her sons, ages 23 and 14.
"When is this killing going to stop?" she asked, her voice cracking and eyes filling with tears. "I want to see whoever killed my grandbaby caught. They can be in prison for the rest of their life. The child hadn't even seen life. These parents out here need to start trying to control their kids."
Bertha Young knows the pain of losing a loved one. Her arms resting on a fence and her cane draped over her left arm, she dabbed tears from her eyes as people gathered Friday evening.
Decades ago, when she was living in New York, her brother was slain, and all she could do was take long walks and cry. She understood some people's calls for vengeance, but she cautioned against further violence.
"A lot of the kids have the mentality that 'If you kill my dog, I'll kill your cat,' " said Young, 78. What she hates most are the so-called street memorials for victims. There's one just up the street at a Popeyes and others on light poles and street signs across the city, most faded and dingy from the weather.
"I hate to see these memorials," Young said. "It really does something to me, because you know, somebody has gotten killed there."
Staff writers Ruben Castaneda, Theola Labbé and Robert Samuels contributed to this report.
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