Cedric Carter was convicted of aggravated murder and aggravated robbery for the 1992 shooting death of Frances Messinger during a robbery at a United Dairy Farmers store in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was sentenced to death by the trial court on July 30, 1992, a recommendation made by the jury after finding that aggravating circumstances outweighed mitigating factors. Carter has pursued numerous appeals, including direct appeals to the Ohio Court of Appeals and Ohio Supreme Court, which affirmed his conviction and sentence. He also filed state post-conviction petitions and applications to reopen his direct appeal. In 2003, Carter filed an "Atkins claim" arguing his execution would violate the Eighth Amendment due to mental retardation, leading to a remand for a hearing on this claim. His execution, originally scheduled for August 24, 2022, was reprieved by Governor Mike DeWine and rescheduled for 2025. As of June 16, 2025, Cedric Carter remains on death row in Ohio.
Cedric Carter. Autographed Letter, Signed. Handwritten, Commercial #10 (4.125 × 9.5 envelope). Cleveland, OH. June 4, 2025. Content unknown. SEALED.
Cedric Carter, born 1973 in Ohio, served as a state corrections officer before crossing into violent crime. He was convicted in 1992 of aggravated murder and aggravated robbery for the shooting death of Frances Messinger during a robbery at a UDF convenience store in Cincinnati. Sentenced initially to death, his case has seen appeals related to trial procedures. His path from trusted public servant to convicted killer revealed a man haunted by addiction and opportunism. The crime shocked the local community, prompting scrutiny of correction‑officer conduct and fueling debate over capital punishment. Carter remains incarcerated, rehabilitative efforts are unclear, and his case stands as a cautionary tale about the corrosive effects of addiction, moral erosion, and unchecked authority.
On April 6, 1992, the quiet hum of the United Dairy Farmer store at Madison Road in Cincinnati masked the gathering storm. Behind this façade was Cedric Carter, a man whose life had followed a trajectory of supposed respectability—born in Ohio, employed as a corrections officer, and entrusted with the safety of inmates—yet whose inner world was unraveling under the weight of addiction and poor choices.
Carter, accompanied by accomplices Billy Ray Hill and an identified “Simms,” was intent on robbery. Earlier that evening, they had cornered drug dealers in the streets—a failed prelude that hardened Carter’s resolve. They agreed to strike the UDF store, planning to use it as a quick grab. After fueling themselves with alcohol and crack cocaine, Carter entered the store under the guise of buying an ice cream cone. When Frances Messinger, the lone clerk, opened the cash register to give him change, Carter, rifle in hand, gave orders that were met with mistake and resistance.
His first shot chattered into the store’s interior, meant to terrorize but misfiring as terror became irreversible reality. When Messinger attempted to press the alarm button, Carter pulled the trigger again—this time with fatal intent—and the bullet struck her squarely in the forehead. He had escalated from threat to murder by impulse, frustration, or both.
Messinger’s body slumped amid spilled ice cream and rising fear. In the moment that followed, Carter fled with his comrades in a borrowed car, leaving destruction in his wake.
Within days, Carter was in custody. The Hamilton County Grand Jury indicted him on two counts: aggravated robbery and the more serious count of aggravated murder, paired with death‑penalty specifications, including the use of a firearm. The prosecution painted a picture of a calculated killer—armed, high on drugs and alcohol, and fixated on force as a means of profit.
His defense counsel petitioned for venue changes and suppression hearings, but was met with rebuffs. A jury trial began July 6, 1992, lasting until July 11. The jury convicted him on both counts. In a sentencing phase, they weighed "aggravating circumstances"—the cold precision of the murder, misuse of firearm, callous disregard for life—against any mitigating factors. They found the former overwhelming and recommended death .
The trial judge formalized that recommendation: Carter was sentenced to death. Appeals followed, reaching the Ohio Supreme Court, which examined his constitutional claim that jury sentencing instructions ran afoul of the requirements clarified in Hurst v. Florida (2016). The court ruled against Carter, upholding the verdict and dismissing his constitutional challenge.
Before the shooting, Carter was a corrections officer with a reputation for volatile behavior. Court records later revealed a history of workplace incidents—threats of self‑harm and purported vendettas against colleagues. He was removed from women's facility work after evidence surfaced tying him to inappropriate correspondence with a former inmate, Shanika Washington.
His personal life was marred by substance abuse—frequent misuse of alcohol and crack cocaine. Commanding authority over inmates yet apparently unable to govern himself, he was living a contradiction: public servant, private chaos. His home life, education, early family background and initial motivations remain obscure in the public record, but the tension between duty and impulse became tragically clear in UDF’s fluorescent lights.
Frances Messinger, the woman behind that cash register, became an unwilling symbol of vulnerability. She was a daughter, perhaps a mother—her death inflicted irreparable grief on family and community. Her final moments were shaped not by accident, but by Carter’s swift brutality. Local media outlets and community vigils responded with grief and outrage, demanding justice and reflection on gun access and violent crime.
Her death catalyzed furor over the death penalty, with some citing Carter’s execution eligibility as necessary closure, while others raised concerns over state-sanctioned killing. The UDF franchise reexamined employee training on armed robbery, and local law‑enforcement agencies pressed for stronger preventive initiatives.
Carter’s execution date remained pending for decades. Amidst appeals and legal wrangling, his counsel argued for re‑sentencing, pointing to procedural missteps and irregular jury guidance. Yet so far, courts have maintained the original verdict and capital sentence, citing due process and proper trial conduct.
Any efforts at rehabilitation in Ohio’s system remain undocumented, though standard programs for education, addiction treatment, and counseling are routinely offered to inmates on death row. Whether Carter engaged meaningfully with such programs is unclear. His future, at least in legal terms, remains tied to the slow churn of appeals and reinstated death penalty jurisprudence.
From the life and crimes of Cedric Carter, several unsettling truths emerge. The corrosive synergy of addiction, authority, and opportunity can turn protector into predator. Systems of oversight failed to catch warning signs in his behavior as a corrections officer before it culminated in murder. Community grief transformed into dialogue about darker issues: access to guns, mental health support, corrections‑officer accountability, and the moral complexity of capital punishment.
In the world of true‑crime memorabilia, artifacts tied to notorious offenders carry a stark allure. A signed note or legal transcript from Carter—stemming from someone who once swore to uphold the law yet took a life without hesitation—would be extremely rare. Its value to collectors lies in the intimate friction it represents between law and lawlessness.
Cedric Carter’s descent from corrections officer to convicted murderer is a stark narrative of trust betrayed and control lost. His case underscores the importance of early intervention in institutional misconduct, comprehensive addiction treatment, and constant vigilance over those granted authority. For all the tragedy, the lessons must not be lost: the structures built to protect society must also protect us from those within who unravel it.
VIDEO: Inside Ohio’s Most Dangerous Prisons: The Brutal Reality No One Talks About | https://youtu.be/64xKvy4yoD0
Archiving Protocol:
• Handled with White Gloves ab initio
• Photo Pages/Sheet Protectors: Heavyweight Clear Sheet Protectors, Acid Free & Archival Safe, 8.5 × 11, Top Load
• White Backing Board—Acid Free
Shipping/Packaging: Rigid Mailer 9.5 × 12.5. The Kraft cardboard is white, self-seal, and stay-flat, ensuring it does not bend. Heavy cardboard, which has strong resistance to bending and tearing, makes each rigid mailer sturdy. These mailers are significantly thicker than those used by the USPS. Shipping cost is never more than it absolutely has to be to get it from me to you.