On the day 23-year-old Tysheen Davis was shot in the head, a young girl knocked on the door of Apartment 1B to tell Yvette Mines that her son was dead.

Later, a detective came by and described the alleged shooter.

“He didn’t have to tell me no name, no nothing. He just described him — tall, dark-skinned, yellow hoodie and a black vest,” Mines said. “When he said that, I just broke down crying because I knew who it was. I was like, ‘It couldn’t have been him.That’s CJ’s son'."

CJ is Carol Johnson. She lives four floors above Yvette Mines at the Astoria Houses in Queens. The two have been neighbors for years.

Both women are single moms. Mines, a nurse's aide who works overnights, has three other children. Johnson, the mother of the alleged shooter, is unemployed and has seven kids.

“We gave each other things if somebody needed something,” Mines said, disbelief still fresh in her voice. "We always stayed in contact.” 

On March 25, police say Lacorey Johnson, 19, used a .380 caliber silver handgun to shoot Tysheen Davis inside the building the two young men grew up in. Today, a makeshift memorial of candles and messages to Tysheen stands outside.

It’s not clear what the young men were feuding over. Mines said she doesn’t blame her friend for what happened but finds it difficult to see her each day.

“I’m not going to be able to communicate with my son,” she said. “She’s going to be able to see her son all the time she go upstate to see him.” 

Lacorey Johnson is now facing second-degree murder charges that could put him in jail for life. The teen had 16 prior arrests including assault and criminal possession of a weapon, according to police.

There were 43 crime incidents reported at the Astoria houses last year that ranged from auto theft to murder and rape — a 34 percent increase over the prior year, according to a city official.

The outside of the Astoria Houses belies the violence on the inside. The complex has trim green lawns and views of the East River. On a recent sunny day, birds were chirping. Giddy teenagers and moms with shopping carts were mingling outdoors. But the looming police tower that arrived after the shooting was a reminder of the crime that recently occurred. 

“When the tower’s here, I’m out more often. When the tower leaves, I’m out less often,” said Miriam Booth, who has lived at the Astoria Houses since 1996.

She said violence in the community has gotten worse over the last few years, and now she hardly notices gun shots when she hears them because they've become routine.

“Sorry to say, that’s just how it is. When I’m in the kitchen and I’m cooking and I hear gunshots I just keep cooking, duck, get away from the window for a little while. Once it stops, then I go back to what I was doing.”

Carol Johnson grew up in the apartment in which she raised Lacorey and her six other children. Lacorey, she said, never finished high school and struggled with mental health issues.

Speaking in a cluttered back room near a mattress propped against the wall, Johnson said she’s been fighting taunts from neighbors and fears more violence.

“I feel everybody’s watching me, and I’m sorry,” she said through tears. “And I’m sorry for what happened. I really truly am sorry, but the community don’t understand it. It’s out to get me, and I don’t want no more animosity. I want it to go away so I can lay down and rest.”

Bishop Taylor, who runs the social service agency East River Development Alliance at the housing development, said he's been trying to draw attention to the shooting so it doesn't go unnoticed.

"I can't stand on the side lines and keep getting reports that young black boys are being killed by young black boys and just accept this as status quo", he said.

At the Astoria Houses, death brings with it a kind of notoriety for young people that they often miss in life. There was a well attended vigil for Tysheen Davis. And for days after the shooting, residents hung laminated picture collages of him around their necks. At his funeral last week, young people showed up wearing black-and-white track suits — an outfit he was known for.

Yvette Mines and Carol Johnson will likely continue to pass each other on the sidewalks and in the hallways.

Neither woman has any other place to go.

Stephen Nessen produced the video and photos for this piece.