“We want to know: Why? What happened?”
So many questions, so much we still don’t know about the case of the woman shot to death by the Secret Service and the U.S. Capitol Police on Oct. 3, 2013, after a car chase from the White House to Capitol Hill. Her 13-month-old daughter survived in a car seat.
“Did we miss something?”
Barbara Nicholson is asking. The office manager of a dental practice in Ardsley, N.Y., is standing in the hygiene room, remembering the woman who used to clean teeth at this chair. Miriam Iris Carey — that was her name. She was one of the best dental hygienists and “one of the nicest people” Nicholson ever hired.
“We’re left with a void and no answers,” Nicholson says. “It’s like she was wiped off the face of the earth.
Nicholson’s voice catches. She pauses and looks away. “She’s missed. She’s very missed.”
Do you remember Miriam Carey? Her remarkably public death at 34 mesmerized us for a couple of news cycles. Then we moved on pretty quickly. I had to look up her name when I first started puzzling over this case. The main thing I remembered was that incredible video — the one showing the two-door black Infiniti surrounded by Secret Service officers with guns drawn near the Capitol Reflecting Pool. The car looks trapped. Suddenly the driver backs into a squad car and accelerates away. There’s the sound of gunfire while tourists take cover on the West Lawn. The Infiniti reappears, making a loop around a traffic circle, and proceeds up Constitution Avenue to what would be the fatal encounter outside the Hart Building.
What an afternoon. We were told that Carey “rammed” White House and Capitol “barriers.” That she tried to breach two security perimeters. That she had mental problems.
District Police Chief Cathy Lanier said federal officers acted “heroically.” The House of Representatives offered a standing ovation.
It was easy to call this a tragedy and turn the page.
Except that some of what little we thought we knew hasn’t held up. The part about ramming White House barriers and trying to breach two security perimeters? Not exactly true.
And how did a supposedly mentally unstable person remain a longtime, reliable and valued employee at two dental practices until the day she was killed? She had a condo and a family and, according to colleagues and relatives, plans for the weekend.
On the other hand, what person ignores commands from officers pointing guns, hits a couple of their cars, and drives on? “We all speculated that she was trying to get her child out of danger, when she was confronted with people with guns, because that’s what she would do,” Nicholson says.
The gunfire — 26 bullets in all — sets the Carey case apart. Shootings by officers on these two forces are rare. White House guards didn’t resort to their weapons in September, when fence-jumper Omar Gonzalez, who had a knife in his pocket, ran far into the executive mansion before being tackled. Carey was unarmed.
“There was no indication she ever had issues,” Nicholson continues. “You couldn’t ask for a more professional person than her. No one ever complained about her, and that’s highly unusual. She was the sweetest person you ever want to know.”
Nicholson looks out the window to the parking lot where Carey used to park the Infiniti. “You could see the [child’s] car seat in the back of that car,” she says.
The leaves are turning gold this afternoon in early October, as they would have been the last time Carey stood at this chair and looked out the window.
After her last patient that Wednesday, Oct. 2, Carey prepared to depart. She usually left by 5 p.m. to pick up her daughter at day care. She lived in Stamford, Conn., 24 miles from Ardsley, 265 miles from Washington.
Her schedule called for her to be off Thursday and Friday, then she was to work at her other dental job in the Bronx on Saturday, and she’d be back here at Advanced Dental of Ardsley on Monday.
“She was absolutely normal,” Nicholson says. “I still remember her standing there, saying, ‘Bye, have a nice weekend. See you on Monday.’ As if nothing.”
There is no public record of her movements or contacts until the following afternoon at 2:13, when she drove up to the Secret Service kiosk at 15th and E streets NW.
“You could see both sides of the story,” Nicholson says. “But I’m sorry. That child does not have a mother because they wanted to handle it their way.”
What did official investigations tell us?
By the time Carey got to town, Washington was already “on edge,” as more than one commentator would say. Two weeks before, a government contractor named Aaron Alexis had smuggled a sawed-off shotgun into the Washington Navy Yard. He murdered 12 people before being shot to death by D.C. police and U.S. Park Police officers.
Six months after that rampage, the Department of Defense released three reports, totaling 280 pages, by internal and independent investigators who took a critical look at how such a thing could happen. In July, the Metropolitan Police Department issued its own 83-page “After Action Report.”
The sum is 363 pages of narrative, timelines, diagrams and analysis of the attack and response, including recommendations for improvement.
The two incidents are, of course, vastly different in many ways, but in both cases, someone was killed by police. Yet in the Carey shooting, just one document has been shared with the public. Dated July 10, it is titled, “Press Release: U.S. Attorney’s Office Concludes Investigation into the Death of Miriam Carey.” It runs 21/2 pages.
U.S. Attorney Ronald C. Machen Jr.’s role was to determine whether to charge the officers who fired at Carey with using excessive force in violation of Carey’s rights. Assisted by the Metropolitan Police Department, investigators interviewed more than 60 witnesses and reviewed ballistics reports, the autopsy, video footage and other evidence.
“There is insufficient evidence to pursue federal criminal civil rights or local charges against officers from the U.S. Secret Service and U.S. Capitol Police,” the release said.
Machen’s report offers a tight narrative of Carey’s actions during her last seven minutes — the time elapsed from her arrival at the White House checkpoint to her mortal wounding on Capitol Hill. Absent is any explanation for why officers resorted to deadly force, what threat Carey presented beyond alleged reckless driving, and whether officers followed their agencies’ policies.
Shortly before this story went to press, Machen’s office released one more sentence to The Washington Post: “There is more than sufficient evidence to show that under all of the prevailing circumstances at the time, the officers were acting in defense of themselves and others at the time they fired their weapons.” A spokesman said the office would not detail what that evidence is.
The Secret Service and the Capitol Police have declined to comment since the day of Carey’s death. D.C. Police Chief Lanier declined an interview request, and the city denied a request for the police department’s findings in support of Machen’s report.
At a budget hearing in March, Capitol Police Chief Kim Dine told Congress he could not comment while Machen’s criminal investigation was under way. “These officers are out there every day putting their lives on the line, and they have to make split-second decisions,” he added.
Now, four months after completion of the criminal probe, the department maintains silence about the case, it says, because the Carey family has filed a $150 million wrongful-death civil claim. The Capitol Police officers who discharged their weapons have been returned to active duty while an internal review continues.
The Secret Service, said a spokesman in an e-mail, “is not responding to any inquiries regarding this matter at this time.”
Who was Miriam Carey?
She grew up in the Pink Houses, a Brooklyn housing project. She was the second youngest of five sisters. Her father was a cook; her mother, a home health aide.
“We all had aspirations to be the best that we could be in our respective fields,” says older sister Valarie Carey, a retired New York police sergeant.
Miriam attended a high school outside the neighborhood where she could study for a health field. She got an associate’s degree from Hostos Community College in 2002 and began working as a dental assistant. Then she earned a bachelor’s from Brooklyn College, qualifying her to pursue a license as a registered dental hygienist.
“It was ‘Miriam I. Carey, RDH,’ ” says Timica Roach, a friend who is a college financial aid counselor. “She wanted to be addressed in that status.”
Miriam had ambitions to go further — to become a dentist or an instructor, or to write a book on the field. She started a placement agency for dental office personnel while working as a hygienist.
Did Miriam Carey have to die?
More than a year after Carey’s death, the answers are unclear.
“She wanted the best in life,” Roach says. “You could tell she was destined to be something.”
“She was full of life, passionate about everything she did,” says Jeannie Marra, office manager at Bronx Dental Implants and Periodontics. Marra remembers the playful hard time Miriam used to give the Listerine rep, arguing that alcohol should not be an ingredient in mouthwash.
Within the family, Miriam was the informal event planner — a baby shower, a trip, says older sister Amy Carey-Jones, a nurse.
One trip they’ll never forget is the excursion to Niagara Falls for Memorial Day 2007. Miriam looks giddy in a blue rain poncho on the Maid of the Mist boat ride to the Horseshoe Falls. At a butterfly conservatory near the falls, everyone was struck at how one landed on Miriam like a blessing.
After renting apartments in Brooklyn’s Bedford-Stuyvesant neighborhood, Carey was ready to buy her own place. In 2010, she found a condo in Stamford for $242,000, in a stately pre-World War II development set around a village green with a gazebo.
Stamford is a prosperous little city just 40 miles from New York, but it seemed a world away to the rest of the family in Brooklyn.
“I’m like, ‘Connecticut! What?’ ” recalls Valarie, who keeps a lighted candle beside a picture of Miriam.
Miriam still visited her mother and sisters nearly every weekend. To stay close to Valarie’s daughter, she would invite Shelby over for dinner and sleepovers.
“When she just moved there,” Shelby says, “it was a birthday weekend of mine. She picked me up, drove to Connecticut, took me shopping, cooked for me. That’s a good memory of mine.”
In Connecticut, Miriam met Eric Francis, who was 21 years older. He owned a heating and air conditioning business in the Hartford area. Valarie thinks they might have met over the computer, “which is so unlike Miriam, but, you know, she was in Connecticut. She wasn’t around us; she was by herself.”
Miriam did not share many details of her relationship with Francis, according to Valarie and Miriam’s colleagues at work. Miriam learned she was pregnant when she was hospitalized after she hurt her back in a bad fall.
Erica’s birth in August 2012, a week after Miriam’s 33rd birthday, opened a chapter of untold joy, and also challenge, for her mother.
Was Miriam Carey mentally ill? (And is that relevant?)
One day in late November 2012, Carey called the Stamford police to report male neighbors loitering outside her window. They had been stalking her for months, she told the 911 operator. “They’re trying to videotape me through my window,” she says on a recording of the call.
The operator said police would be right over, but there is no record of the outcome.
About two weeks later, shortly after midnight on a Monday, Carey locked herself in the bathroom with her daughter and wouldn’t come out, according to a call Francis made to the Stamford police. “It’s been going on for a week now,” he says on the recording. “She needs help.”
The episode was resolved — police records don’t say how — but before noon Francis summoned officers again. “She just went outside and I can’t get her back in,” he tells the emergency operator. “The baby doesn’t have no coat or anything.”
Four officers arrived and found Carey inside the condo, pacing with her daughter, according to the written police report. “She stated that the residence was hers and she wanted Francis removed,” said the report.
Asked why, “she replied it was because Stamford and the state of Connecticut [are] on a security lock down,” the report continued. “She stated that President Obama put Stamford in lockdown after speaking to her because she is the Prophet of Stamford. She further stated that President Obama had put her residence under electronic surveillance and that it was being fed live to all the national news outlets.”
An officer asked to hold the baby. “She replied no it was her Baby.”
Officers “grabbed” her arms, handed the child to Francis and handcuffed Carey. She slipped off the right cuff. “After a brief struggle” she was handcuffed again and transported to a location that is redacted.
Twelve days later, Francis called police before daybreak because he said he had not heard from Carey since the previous afternoon. He wanted to file a missing-persons report. Shortly after officers arrived, Carey returned. She got upset that police were in her condo, then calmed down, and the officers left.
An hour later, Francis again called police. “She needs to go back to the hospital,” he says on the recording. “She was on medication and she didn’t take her medication.”
The police report said officers found baby milk spattered around the apartment and Carey “acting out violently” toward “items” in the condo and Francis.
Officers pried the baby from her hold and gave her to Francis. After Carey was handcuffed, she tried to kick an officer whose colleagues “brought her to the ground,” the report said. She was taken to Stamford Hospital for an evaluation. We don’t know the outcome. Family members declined to share details.