The Baltimore Sun from Baltimore, Maryland • A19

SUNDAY, JUNE 2, 2013 NEWS THE BALTIMORE SUN 19 Allen says the agency tried to deliver a letter to more than one of Moore's relatives. Nobody would accept it Mary Moore, who had remarried, died in 2008. Upon learning that Moore's case was closed and a letter outlining the findings was available, The Baltimore Sun requested the letter under the Freedom of Information Act and gave Munn a copy. "Unfortunately, I don't believe this case will ever be decided," she said before reading it. "It's sad.

I would just like to know. I would like to know what people have heard." The Department of Justice letter detailing the FBI's findings says agents combed through state, local and federal files. They interviewed an attorney whose father represented Simpson; the man said his father's records were destroyed in an office fire. They spoke to people who knew about Klan activities in DeKalb County in the 1960s, and to a Simpson relative who couldn't recall him or his wife ever mentioning Moore's death. Agents did not get a chance to sift through Moore's journal for clues because they never got in touch with Munn.

Agents also couldn't talk to Simpson, who is still regarded as the main suspect in Moore's death. "An exhaustive review conducted by the FBI and attorneys from the Department of Justice Civil Rights Division did not produce any new leads," the report concluded. "Instead, the review suggests that the most probable subject involved in the murder is Floyd Simpson, who is deceased." Marching forward While Munn now knows what the FBI found in re-investigating her father's case, she still thinks about how Moore was shot from the front Did he know the killer? Had he met him during his walk? It would help if someone stepped forward saying Simpson had confessed to the murder, she says. But knowing the main suspect is dead does give her some peace. As the 50th anniversary of Moore's death approached in late April, Munn sat at her computer and typed out a short letter to the newspaper in her stepfather's hometown of Binghamton.

It reminded readers of his contributions to history, and thanked the city for recognizing him on a local monument. An email came back from an editor, thanking her but seeking more information. The newspaper needed to include her address to publish the letter to the editor. Munn felt the same fear that had dogged her all her life. But then she thought about her stepfather's courage and conviction.

"He was willing to walk down this road without any protection," she says. "Why wouldn't I want to put down my name and my city?" Baltimore Sun researcher Paul McCardell contributed to this article. jgeorgebaltsun.com twitter.comjustingeorge "They didn't seem to be the people you'd want to talk to, judging by their demeanor. It happened once when Mom was alone and that really scared her. It happened once when we were all there and Mom locked the door and said, 'Sorry, I can't talk to What made matters worse was the halting prosecution of Simpson, the man suspected in Moore's death.

He was arrested four days after the killing. Investigators said Simpson had links to the Ku Klux Klan, and witnesses had seen a car like the one he drove near the spot where Moore was shot. The state compared shells from the murder scene and bullets from Moore's body with rounds fired from Simpson's rifle. An examination showed that shell markings were identical to those on the test casings. The bullets seemed to match, too, but investigators couldn't say for sure because the bullets from Moore's body were too battered to compare.

They also couldn't rule out the possibility that an identical gun might have killed Moore. On Sept. 13, 1963, a grand jury reviewed the evidence and declined to indict Simpson. Time passed. Witnesses and investigators died.

The bullets somehow disappeared, along with other evidence. Unending unease As a child, Munn had taken interest in Moore's constant letter-writing to politicians and newspapers. He showed interest in her piano playing, and always took time to explain the news events going on in the world. "I envy my friends who've had one mom and dad all their life," Munn says. "Dad gets to walk them down the aisle.

Dad gets to do this and that We didn't have that. My mom walked me down the aisle." Now 65, Munn is married and living outside Phoenix, Ariz. She has children, but won't disclose their names. She won't share much about herself either, but says she is involved in church choirs and is the treasurer for a community chorale. Her brother died in 2011; her sister declined to be interviewed.

"My sister's always worried," Munn says. "If I give out too much information, she's still worried that she will be bothered." Munn has safeguarded her stepfather's belongings, including the cart he pulled along on his walk, his duffel bag, his journal and a 4 -inch bust of Abraham Lincoln he had kept in his Baltimore apartment. Asked where the items are located, she says they are in a "secure place." She gets anxious discussing them but can't really say why. "I don't know," she says. "I just get nervous." Revisiting old cases The Moore case became eligible for a new look when, in 2006, the FBI began a cold-case Initiative to investigate slayings William Moore, shown in 1963, the year he was arrested for participating in a segregation protest at the Northwood Theatre in the Hillen neighborhood, and the year he died.

committed during the civil rights era. The main goal was to determine if any perpetrators could be prosecuted. If not, the agency hoped to bring closure to families whose cases may have been undermined, overlooked or ignored because of the racial climate of the era FBI Civil Rights Division unit chief Matthew W. Drake says time was also a factor. More witnesses, victims, suspects and investigators were dying each year.

A total of 112 cases have been reopened, but only one has resulted in a federal conviction while another was successfully prosecuted by the state of Alabama. In some cases, investigators found that evidence had been destroyed. Other suspects are protected by constitutional prohibitions against repeat prosecution. And some incidents are too old to be covered by 1968 federal laws against racially motivated homicides. The main obstacle: In about half of the cases the FBI has re-examined, suspects are dead.

When the investigations conclude, FBI agents hand-deliver detailed letters to the victims' next of kin if they can find them. Grace Hal Miller, widowed in 1965 when her husband, Hosie Miller, was shot, received a letter in 201L Investigators had concluded that the main suspect was dead. "At least it gave us some closure," the 80-year-old woman says. "I knew nothing could be done when they came out here because it had been 40 years since." The FBI reopened Moore's case in 2009 and closed it in March with no new leads. Federal agents never reached Moore's stepchildren, though FBI spokesman Chris Residents, police seek ways to defuse violence KARL MERTON FERRONBALTIMORE SUN PHOTOS Marilyn Mosby, with daughter Aniyah, 2, speaks to fellow members of the Cherry Hill community during a vigil Wednesday for Carter Scott, a 1-year-old shot and killed during an attack on his father Memorial Day weekend.

Tyyera Smith, 5, holds hands and listens. VIOLENCE, From page 1 three dead, including a 1-year-old boy in Cherry Hill. Police said Saturday that Melvin Taylor, 23, who was shot over the Memorial Day weekend, has died. Police also were investigating two nonfatal shootings early Saturday. While statistics show crime is down in the city this year, researchers such as Johns Hopkins' Daniel Webster say a cluster of shootings can indeed lead to further violence.

Victims' family members and friends might retaliate, for example, or a "social contagion" of sorts can spread as residents act on feelings of vulnerability, said Webster, who directs the Center for Gun Policy and Research at Hopkins' Bloomberg School of Public Health. "Suddenly you're on edge, you think, 'It's not safe out there. If I go out, I have to make sure I have my weapon with me, and it's Webster said. "Then you find yourself in a situation. You reach for your weapon, and it just land of spreads.

"Instead of a shouting match, you have a shooting match." Hot and stupid Webster's research suggests some "seasonality" to gun violence, with weekends and summer bringing slight increases. He attributes that to opportunity more people being out and about equals more chances for fights to break out. Or, as Janice McCoy said last week as she sat on her steps in the Broadway East neighborhood: "It gets hot and people get stupid." Under a hazy sky, as temperatures climbed toward the 90s one afternoon, McCoy sat on her shaded marble steps scooping out a bubble gum-flavored snowball; a folding table held ahalf-dozen bottles of flavors. But on Tuesday afternoon, a 15-year-old boy had been shot near Colling-ton Square Elementary, the school that McCoy's two grandchildren attend. Until then, McCoy said, the neighborhood had been relatively quiet in recent months, thanks to what seemed like an increased police presence.

"I am so happy I see them walking the block. That's what it needs to be," she said. "The police have been there on foot, on bikes. They made a difference." Still, McCoy expects more violence with the warm weather drawing people outdoors. Some academic studies have found links between rising temperatures and rising criminality, while others have debunked the notion.

In any event, Webster said, police and residents can find ways to prevent the rash of Memorial Day weekend shootings from spiraling into further violence. Webster said community-based initiatives have had some success in the past One of those is Safe Streets, in which outreach workers some ofwhomhave a criminal past of their own immediately respond to a shooting and try to prevent retaliatory violence. Safe Streets took the lead in organizing Wednesday's vigil in Cherry Hill for Carter Scott, the 1-year-old shot to death while sitting in a car with his father last weekend. Group members hoped to help residents deal with their shock and anger. Police said the shooters' target was the infant's father, Rashaw Scott, 22, who was seriously wounded.

Court records show that he had been accused weeks before of attacking the child's mother. Christina White filed for a protective order in April, alleging that Rashaw Scott had beaten her and slammed her head through a wall. White, however, did not go to court to get a final order, so no action was taken on her complaint. Scott's family is preparing for the infant's funeral services Monday morning at First Apostolic Church in the Washington Hill neighborhood. The family is raising money for the funeral and accepting donations though their attorney, Sondra Douglas.

Meanwhile, police have increased patrols in neighborhoods where shootings have occurred and are working to get "in front of" any retaliatory acts that might be in the works, said Deputy Police Commissioner John Skinner. "We can see patterns of violence in the city, and we're going to have a lot more officers out on the streets," Skinner said. "People will see officers walking through their neighborhoods and driving through them." 'Always on the lookouf For Washington and his neighbors in "Chum," as they call their community, the shootings were traumatic and a reminder of the need for constant vigilance. Already, they said, some residents try to help police with tips on crimes and participate in citizens patrol groups that regularly walk the streets with officers. "We do have citizens come out that shows a level of commitment in the community," Washington said.

"We try to establish we are a partner of police. You can't be a challenged neighborhood in Baltimore City and not try to have a working relationship with police." Resident Anthony Walters said that while the weekend shootings concern him, "our good outweighs our bad." Community activists continue to hold cookouts on some of the roughest streets, he said, and try to engage the kind of young men who hang out on corners, perhaps up to no good. "We're not threatening to them what we try to tell them is, Tfou can do something Walters said. "They know we care about them, but we're also not going to tolerate craziness." Mary Pat Clarke, the councilwoman who represents the area, lauded residents for actively protecting their neighborhood, by attending board hearings over problem bars, for example. "This is a community that is always on the lookout to prevent crime," Clarke said.

"They don't just sit back and watch." That is what makes the recent shootings so disheartening for the police and residents who have worked together to overcome the neighborhood's history of violence, Skinner said. "What's great about that neighborhood is they have a strong community organization," he said. "They've had incredible gains over the years. But there is gang activity and there is drug activity there." The Memorial Day weekend shootings recalled an even bloodier holiday three years ago. During the 2010 holiday weekend, 10 people were killed in the city through a deadly mix of domestic disputes, a gang feud and, in one case, a hair-pulling incident that led to a holiday cookout being shot up.

It was preceded and followed by weekends of violence, leading police to step up patrols in certain neighborhoods and seize illegal weapons. This year, police and residents are taking heart in the overall decrease in crime. Washington said Chum residents continue to try to "glean information" that might help police. Worley, the Northeast District commander, welcomes the assistance, calling the residents "the biggest asset" in the fight against crime. "We will win this," Worley said in response to Washington's email in the wake of the neighborhood shootings.

"It'll just take some time." Baltimore Sun reporter Jessica Anderson contributed to this article. jean.marbellabaltsun.com twitter.comjean-marbella.