After Charlotte police shooting, two unmarked graves sit in Oaklawn Cemetery
The mother of a man shot and killed by Charlotte police died before she could go in front of a jury and tell them about the night her call for help ended with four officers firing 25 shots at her son.
Demetrics McGill died of stage-four lung cancer — a surprise to the 57-year-old and her family — less than three months before the lawsuit she and her two living sons filed was set for trial. The lawsuit came after officers “failed to de-escalate the situation” and negligently killed Sanrico McGill the week before Christmas in 2023, the family contends.
Sanrico McGill — known by friends and family as Rico or Freak — was a 34-year-old man with bipolar schizophrenia and psychosis. A three-part Charlotte Observer investigation found that his death was shrouded in police secrecy and sat at the intersection of gun access and a faulty mental health system.
Now, Demetrics McGill’s grave sits in north Charlotte’s Oaklawn Cemetery less than 100 paces away from her son’s.
Both are unmarked.
Terminal before trial
Demetrics McGill died May 28. At her funeral on Saturday, June 13, the story of her son’s death was condensed into nine words: “She is preceded in death by her son, Sanrico McGill.”
The about 150 who gathered at Mission Church of The Lord Jesus Christ knew the gravity of the sentence.
That the day before Sanrico McGill died, his mother had filed involuntary commitment paperwork at the Mecklenburg County magistrate’s office — as she had done several times before.
That she was waiting for police to come take him away for evaluation when she heard shots nearby. That she said she called 911 not because she thought her son was shooting but to get officers out there faster, to make sure he was OK. That police logged her emergency call for help as a “shots fired” call.
That, somehow, Sanrico had a gun. That he wasn’t holding that gun when officers arrived but picked it up after officers shined a spotlight on him and boomed different commands. That police shot him after ignoring his family’s pleas.
That nobody reached him for more than 30 minutes while police launched a drone — something the department at the time had never told the public they use.
Police told the public they rendered aid to Sanrico McGill immediately. An Observer investigation found that wasn’t true.
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Burying grief
Demetrics McGill’s grief has been tainted with guilt since that night, the family’s attorney, Nichad Davis, told the Observer.
“No mom would call police to kill her son,” he said. “She spent the last six months fighting for her life and her son’s life.”
Demetrics McGill never sat down for a deposition in the case. She found out about her terminal cancer diagnosis the day she was scheduled to sit down with Davis for a recorded legal interview that would be used in the case.
They canceled, and she never got healthy enough to come back in.
A Mecklenburg County judge is still determining what will happen after hearing motions for summary judgment in April, Davis said. Attorneys at the hearing asked a judge to determine what parts of the case need to go to trial. If the claims do go before a jury, Davis, with no recorded interview, will have little he is able to share from Demetrics McGill’s key perspective on the night.
In an interview with the Observer last year, Demetrics McGill said — and body-worn camera footage showed — that police were laughing and drinking coffee as she mourned her son.
Her nephew, talking to the Saturday funeral crowd, said Demetrics McGill was mostly known for one thing: “She’s going to say what she feel.”
“Uh-huh,” they responded in unison while standing on the brick west Charlotte church’s purple carpet or sitting on its purple pews.
More than 50 people followed her casket up West Boulevard and Interstate 77, passing empty yards and vacant pink and purple butterfly playhouses on the 91-degree day. After Oaklawn Cemetery workers lowered Demetrics McGill, her niece approached an Observer reporter watching below a tree nearby.
“You knew my auntie?” she asked.
And after learning that Demetrics McGill had spoken to the newspaper after her lawsuit and a review from the Mecklenburg County District attorney prompted an investigation, the niece looked back at the slot dug into the ground and breathed deep.
“Dang, Auntie,” she sighed with glossy eyes. “Even in your death, you’re making things happen.”
Nearby, a few men took the purple flowers that were on top of the purple casket and walked into the sun — toward the patch of freshly sprouted grass where Sanrico McGill rests. They lay the roses and their hands on the soil, identified only by a small pink surveying flag and a lily plant, and mourned:
“I miss my friend.”
“I miss you, Freak.”
“Come back.”
