Federal Probe into Botched U.S. Marshals Arrest Drags On: Phoenix Grandmother Seeks Justice One Year After Nightmare Raid

Phoenix, AZ — November 29, 2025  PHOENIX — One year after a terrifying case of mistaken identity left a Phoenix grandmother handcuffed at gunpoint outside her own home, the federal investigation into the U.S. Marshals Service's egregious error remains mired in secrecy, with no final report in sight and mounting calls for accountability from outraged lawmakers.

Penny McCarthy, now 68, was enjoying a quiet evening in her driveway on March 5, 2024, when her life unraveled in a hail of shouted commands and drawn rifles. Body camera footage, later obtained by local investigators, captures the chaos: six armed U.S. Marshals agents swarm her modest Phoenix residence in three unmarked white vans, weapons trained on the bewildered retiree as they bellow, "Police! Don't move! Hands up!" What followed was a harrowing ordeal of wrongful detention, a humiliating strip search, and a night in federal custody—all because of a glaring misidentification.

The agents weren't after McCarthy. Their target was Carole Rozak, a 70-year-old Canadian woman wanted on a two-decade-old, non-violent parole violation stemming from crimes in Oklahoma. A supposed "fingerprinting glitch" in the Marshals' database had erroneously linked McCarthy's prints to Rozak's, leading to what McCarthy's attorneys describe as a "militarized raid" on the wrong doorstep. Despite McCarthy's frantic protests—insisting she could prove her identity with a driver's license and other documents—the agents dismissed her pleas, threatening to "hit" her if she kept looking at them, according to details in her subsequent federal lawsuit.

Transported to the U.S. Marshals Office in Phoenix, McCarthy endured further indignities: a strip search at a federal detention center and prolonged questioning, even as she repeatedly denied being Rozak. It wasn't until a month later, after relentless media scrutiny from ABC15 investigators exposed the blunders, that the Marshals finally acknowledged their mistake and released her. By then, the damage was irreversible. "The trauma was so severe that Penny had to leave Arizona," said Paul Avelar, her attorney with the nonprofit Institute for Justice, which took up her case pro bono. McCarthy, once an independent woman walking her dog without fear, now battles anxiety so profound she avoids being alone.

The fallout has been swift and multifaceted. In June 2025, McCarthy filed a civil rights lawsuit in federal court against six Marshals agents involved in the arrest, two office employees who mishandled her processing, and additional agency staff responsible for the faulty identification. The suit accuses the defendants of violating her Fourth Amendment rights through unreasonable seizure and excessive force, seeking unspecified damages for the emotional and psychological scars inflicted. "This is about unaccountable government," Avelar emphasized. "How does a simple database error escalate to guns drawn on an innocent grandmother?"

Enter Congress. The botched arrest ignited bipartisan fury, culminating in a stern November 2024 letter from Arizona Congressman Andy Biggs and Ohio Representative Jim Jordan, chairs of key House Judiciary subcommittees. "We are very concerned at both the USMS's carelessness and the excessive force during this encounter," they wrote to the Department of Justice. "The USMS’s lack of regard for Ms. McCarthy’s due process rights is very troubling, and oversight is necessary to ensure similar abuses do not happen in the future." Biggs, whose district includes Phoenix, recently pressed for a face-to-face briefing with federal investigators, underscoring the lawmakers' demand for transparency.

That probe—the one keeping McCarthy and her advocates in limbo—kicked off in December 2024 under the DOJ's Office of the Inspector General (OIG). Federal agents interviewed McCarthy that month, delving into the Marshals' procedural lapses and the infamous fingerprint fiasco. Yet, as of late November 2025, the investigation plods on without resolution. A DOJ spokesperson invoked policy, neither confirming nor denying details, while estimating the full review could stretch another year. Critics, including Biggs, decry the delay as emblematic of bureaucratic inertia. "A year later, and still no answers? This isn't justice—it's a cover-up," Biggs told reporters this week.

For McCarthy, the wait is agonizing. Displaced from her home state and grappling with the ghosts of that March evening, she views the lawsuit and congressional pressure as her last stands against institutional indifference. "I just want to know how they got it so wrong—and ensure no one else endures this," she said in a recent statement. As the OIG's timeline ticks toward potentially 2026, the case of Penny McCarthy stands as a stark reminder of the human cost when federal machinery malfunctions: a grandmother's peace shattered, and trust in law enforcement forever fractured.

The DOJ has yet to respond to requests for an update, but with McCarthy's lawsuit advancing and lawmakers circling, pressure is building for swift accountability. In a nation weary of unchecked power, will this finally force a reckoning? For now, the grandmother waits—handcuffs off, but chains of uncertainty very much in place. 17GEN4