Woman killed in Morganton apartment fire; SBI investigates
A 51-year-old woman died Sunday morning when a fire broke out at an apartment complex in Morganton, The News-Herald reported.
Student safety concerns rise as 2 struck by driver at crosswalk
The Morganton Department of Public Safety was called to Forest View Apartments on Lenoir Road shortly after 6 a.m. for a reported fire, said Assistant Chief Ryan Lander.
Officials identified the victim as Pricilla Deeli Perez Febus, the newspaper reported.
The fire started in an end unit.
Families were displaced and The American Red Cross is helping them.
The North Carolina State Bureau of Investigation has been called to assist with the investigation, officials said.
VIDEO: Popular Morganton attraction washed out by Helene partially reopens
Hashtags
Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles
Yahoo
a day ago
- Yahoo
Cops ask public's help ID'ing muggers who stabbed, beat Bronx subway rider
Cops released surveillance photos of a trio of brutes wanted for punching, repeatedly stabbing and robbing a man on a Bronx train last month. The three muggers, believed to be in their 20s, remain on the lam after the violent May 11 attack, which left 39-year-old Alberto Abreu Contreras knocked unconscious on the E. 167th St. subway station platform in Highbridge. Surveillance photos show one mugger wearing an olive-green hooded sweatshirt, gray sweatpants and black sneakers. The others are both pictured wearing white jackets, with black masks covering their faces. It was not immediately clear which man stabbed Contreras, cops said. The victim was on his way home from his job as a valet, riding the No. 4 train heading north around 2:19 a.m. when he was approached by the three men, who ordered him to hand over his 14-karat gold Jesus medallion chain. When he didn't cooperate, the trio grabbed the jewelry and pulled the victim out onto the train platform. 'If you don't give me your stuff I'm going to stab you,' one of the men threatened, police sources told the Daily News. The crooks then furiously attacked Contreras, punching him in the face and one suspect stabbing him in the abdomen and torso, before they took off with the wounded victim's chain, EarPods, Samsung Galaxy A23 phone and IDs. 'I was sitting on the train, and a guy grabbed me by my chain through my hoodie,' Contreras told The News a day after the assault. 'He dragged me out onto the platform, I held onto the guy for dear life. There was two more guys that came to help him. They said, 'Let him go'. He was saying, 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' in Spanish, and he ran down the escalator.' Contreras was unconscious following the beatdown and said he woke up at Lincoln Hospital, where he was initially in critical condition. After surgery he was expected to recover. 'I still feel the pain,' Contreras told The News. 'They put tubes in my stomach to see if there was internal bleeding. It is what it is, this goes with the neighborhood. This can happen to anyone.' Anyone with information is asked to call Crime Stoppers at (800) 577-TIPS. All calls are confidential.
Miami Herald
2 days ago
- Miami Herald
A daughter with DACA, a mother without papers, and a goodbye they can't bear
Michelle Valdes' mom thinks she sees immigration agents everywhere: in the lobby of the building where she cares for elderly clients, at the local outlet mall, on downtown corners. The fear is constant. Driving to work, going to the store —just leaving the house feels too risky for her. At work, while she cooks and cleans in her clients' homes, she listens as stories of immigration detentions, deportations and constantly changing laws and policies play loudly in English from the TV. The 67-year-old undocumented Colombian national who has lived in the United States for more than a third of her life has stopped driving completely, opting for Uber, and ducking down in the backseat when she sees police officers. As a Jehovah's Witness, she has chosen not to do her door-to-door ministry and only attends church on Zoom. But what keeps her up at night these days is that she will soon go without seeing her daughter, likely for close to a decade. She is preparing to leave the United States after 23 years, leaving behind her 31-year-old daughter, a DACA recipient or 'Dreamer' who came to the United States when she was 8 and is still in the process of gaining her green card. Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, or DACA, is a federal program that protects undocumented people who came to the U.S. as children from deportation. 'I don't want to feel like I'm going to be spending two months in some detention center in the middle of God knows where, where none of my family members see me,' she said in Spanish during an interview with the Herald. She asked not to use her name for this story because she fears she could be targeted. 'I'm done,' she said. Her daughter's immigration situation is also precarious, even though she is married to a U.S. citizen. His family, from Cuba, got lucky when they won the visa lottery. But her family did not have such luck. Valdes' family did what immigrants often do: They fled danger, asked for political asylum, hired lawyers and filed paperwork. And they lost. Last year, only 19.3% of Colombian asylum cases were approved, according to researchers at Syracuse University. Even in 2006, when violence was at a very high point in Colombia, only 32% of asylum cases were approved. Their family's story reveals the toll a constantly changing and exceedingly complicated immigration system has on families who tried to 'do the right thing' and legalize their status. Now, under President Trump's administration, which has ramped up enforcement and the optics around it, being undocumented has become even more hazardous. People who have been living and working in the shadows in the United States are now being forced to decide if the reward of seeking a better life is still worth the risk. And those who are following the rules are afraid the rules will keep changing. The mother has already started packing boxes. Denied asylum Valdes' mom had never heard of the American Dream. She said she had never even heard the phrase 'el sueño americano' before coming to the United States. The family fled Colombia in 2002, leaving behind comfort and status. Valdes' mother had been an architect in Cartagena, a city on the South American nation's Caribbean coast. The family had a driver, a cook and a nanny. But violence by the Fuerzas Armadas Revolucionarias de Colombia, the rebel group known as FARC, was encroaching on their lives: armed robbery at their home, threatening calls and the kidnapping of her cousin, a wealthy businessperson. The family was forced to pay a ransom for his release. The early 2000s in Colombia, under President Andrés Pastrana, were years of intense violence by guerrilla gangs such as the FARC, who targeted wealthier Colombians. 'They would just pick up anybody who they believed they could get money from,' said Valdes. Her aunt would often call Valdes' mom from Florida, telling her their family would be safer here. The family arrived on a tourist visa in 2002, found a lawyer and applied for asylum. It was denied in 2004. Under U.S. immigration policy, people who have suffered persecution due to factors such as race, religion, nationality, membership to a social group, or political opinion can apply for asylum. It must be filed within a year of arrival in the United States. Valdes' family's interview did not go well and they were placed in removal proceedings. They appealed and in 2006 took the case to the U.S. Board of Immigration Appeals. The family's asylum application claimed that Valdes' mom would be killed by the FARC guerilla gang if she returned to Colombia, in connection with her cousin's kidnapping. But the court ultimately found holes in her case, and said her fear is not well founded and that she failed to prove that she would be in danger if she returned to Colombia. Their final motion was denied in part because it was filed 45 days late, according to the court filing. Valdes was just 11 years old when the courts denied her family's final plea to stay in the United States. The family was issued removal orders. 'I feel like I made a mistake asking for asylum,' said Valdes' mother. 'I wasn't guided well because I was scared and didn't know what to do.' She says predatory lawyers charged her close to $40,000 but never told her the truth about her odds of winning the case. 'It's pure show,' she said in Spanish. 'I believed they would help, but they did nothing.' By then, Valdes and her brothers were attending public schools in West Palm Beach, a right undocumented children have because of a supreme court ruling which passed narrowly in the early '80s. 'I just kind of poured my whole life into school, just to kind of distract myself from other things going on in life, specifically with immigration,' she said. In fifth grade, she won the science fair. At Roosevelt Middle School she was in the pre-med program and the national junior honor society. She always had A's and B's in school. But when her middle school national honor society was invited to Australia, she had to stay behind, unable to travel because she was undocumented. At Suncoast Community High School, she was invited to sing in a choir concert in Europe, but again, she could not go. In 2007, ICE detained Valdes' parents and her eldest brother. Her other brother and Valdes were picked up from school and reunited with their parents at the ICE office. Valdes' mom said the officer told her that since the family had a removal order, they needed to deport at least one person to prove they completed their quota for the day. But to this day, Valdes and her mother can't fully explain why the father was deported but they were released. Was it luck? Did the ICE officers sympathize with their family? Then 13, Valdes remembers standing in the Miami immigration office as agents took her father away. 'He was wearing jeans, a tan coat and a gray-blue fisherman's hat,' she said. 'What I remember the most is that there was, like, some sort of feeling that I got, that I knew that I was never gonna see him again.' He was deported in January of 2007, when Valdes was in seventh grade. It was the only semester she ever failed in school, she said. Her father died at 69 in Colombia in 2022. A petition for him to get legal status and return to the U.S., filed on his behalf of his son from a previous marriage, was approved a year after his death, said Valdes. '17 years too late,' she said, in tears. DACA as a lifeline In 2012, Valdes and her mother were preparing to leave the United States for good. Flights were booked. Boxes mailed. Then, just 14 days before departure, President Obama announced the Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals program. The program was meant to protect children like Valdes, who came to the U.S. at a young age. Valdes was 18. Her phone lit up with messages from people in her community who knew she was undocumented. She applied that October. As a 'Dreamer,' or DACA recipient, she's protected from deportation and able to work legally — but can't travel outside the country. Her two older brothers, Ricardo and Jean Paul, had already left the country by then. After attending public schools and graduating from high school, the brothers could not attend college or find work. So in 2011, they returned to Colombia, and their mother sent them money to attend university. They both still live there and haven't seen their mom in 14 years. Valdes' situation was slightly better, but without legal permanent residency, she didn't qualify for most scholarships. The one scholarship she did get was a $4,000 scholarship from the Global Education Center at Palm Beach State, but $1,500 was deducted in taxes because she was considered a foreign student. Starting in 2014, Florida universities provided in-state tuition waivers for undocumented students under certain conditions. But because Valdes didn't enroll in college within a year of graduating from high school, she lost access to the waiver. That waiver was recently canceled in Florida for undocumented students, and starting July 1, at least 6,500 DACA recipients in Florida enrolled in public universities will have to pay the out-of-state tuition rate. 'When people asked me what I wanted for my birthday, I would ask for money to pay my tuition,' she said. Throughout those years, people would come to Valdes asking for help filling out their work permit applications, DACA applications and other legal forms, and they would say, 'Wow, you are so good at it.' Although she never wanted to do anything law or immigration related, she kept getting pulled in that direction, and decided to get her paralegal certificate, Valdes said. She now works at an immigration law office. Her plan is to go to law school after getting hands on training. 'I always thought: When I turn 18, I'm an adult — 'why am I still tied to my mom's case?' ' she said. 'But nobody explained it.' At her job in the law office, she finally learned the full truth of her case. Her name is still listed on her mother's asylum application — the case that was denied in 2006. So she still had a final removal order connected to her name. That case, and its order of removal, still haunts her. Although she's married to a U.S. citizen, it will take her years to adjust her status to get a green card and permanent residency status. The process will involve her husband filing petitions and waivers explaining that it would be an extreme hardship for him if she were deported. Valdes will have to leave the country and re-enter. In all, the process could take around eight years. Former president Joe Biden had a program to help people like Valdes, whose family is of 'mixed-status' but the program was shut down by Republicans. Immigration attorneys say there are fewer and fewer pathways for people married to U.S. citizens to legalize their status. The roadblocks and complications frustrate Valdes to tears. Valdes said that it is not fair that 'under our immigration system, a child, at such a young age, has to suffer the consequences of the parents' mistakes.' 'No es justo, no es justo,' she said, crying. It's not fair. But immigration laws, enforcement and policies are changing every day. 'People say 'get in line, get in line, get in line,' and then you get in line, and it's like, 'Oh, too bad, you don't apply with that anymore, or we're just going to change the laws. Or, you know, you aged out, or you didn't submit by this day,' said Valdes. In the past weeks, ICE agents across the nation have even begun detaining people as they exit immigration courthouses. Some are individuals with final orders of deportation like Valdes and her mom. Just this week, the Supreme Court ruled that President Trump can revoke humanitarian parole for over 500,000 migrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela. President Trump has spoken favorably of DACA recipients, but nonetheless, 'Dreamers' still have to reapply every two years, and there is no guarantee their right to legally be in the U.S. will not be revoked. Immigration attorneys say DACA could be the next program to be shut down by the Supreme Court. 'How shaky is DACA? How solid is it?' Valdes asked. Same fear, different country Valdes' mom says she now feels the same fear in the United States as she did in Colombia — maybe worse. 'I'm scared. Terrified,' she said. 'I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, always on alert.' For years, she tried to hold on. But after 23 years, she's tired of living in limbo. Valdes and her mom try not to think much about the fact that they are leaving each other, focusing more on the present and getting through each day. Valdes' mom says her ultimate goal was always for her daughter to get an education in the United States, and now that her daughter has a job, a husband, and is planting roots, she feels like she can go and let her daughter live her life. She left Colombia because she was 'tired of being followed. I was tired of being paranoid. I was tired of never being able to have my freedom, to just live, because I was always so scared. And fast forward, 23 years later, I'm just in the same boat in a different country,' she said. The hardest part for Valdes is imagining being pregnant and then giving birth without her mom by her side. But, she says, 'Now I tell her, I totally understand. It's your turn to finish living your life, Mom. I want her to be at peace, and I want her to rest.' As her mother prepares to leave, Michelle is left with the frustration of knowing that there's nothing she can do. 'I am still helpless. I still can't help her. I still can't help myself. It's a looming darkness you carry every day,' said Valdes.
Miami Herald
2 days ago
- Miami Herald
FWC chair, Miami-Dade State Attorney texted about Pino boat crash, records show
The head of the state agency that investigated the boat crash that killed a teenage girl texted the Miami-Dade State Attorney several times about the case as they were considering what charges to file against the boat operator, even though he said he was minimally involved in the investigation, according to text messages obtained by the Miami Herald. Rodney Barreto, chair of the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, and Miami-Dade State Attorney Katherine Fernandez Rundle exchanged at least nine texts — mostly in the months after the September 2022 crash — according to the heavily redacted records. The Herald obtained the texts when it requested all discovery materials provided to the defense team of George Pino, 54, who has been charged with felony vessel homicide after slamming his 29-foot Robalo into a concrete marker in Biscayne Bay, leading to the death of 17-year-old Luciana 'Lucy' Fernandez. The State Attorney's Office told the Herald Wednesday night that the messages had been accidentally provided to the Herald and were not turned over in discovery. Texting months after the crash In the first message, dated March 14, 2023 — six months after the crash — Fernandez Rundle texted Barreto, 'May I call you today reference the boat accident?' 'OK,' Barreto responded after he and Fernandez Rundle agreed to speak in 25 minutes. Other parts of the text thread were redacted. Months later, on June 6, 2023, Barreto shared a text with Rundle that he had received from Lucy's father, Andres Fernandez. Fernandez was expressing his frustration with the FWC and State Attorney's Office for not concluding their investigation. By that point — nine months after the crash — Pino hadn't been charged with any crimes. 'It's been close to 3 months since FWC and SAO cancelled our meeting and my understanding was that it was not going to be a significant delay,' the Fernandez text said. 'I'm sorry to bother you with this but I'm really frustrated and out of patience. My family and I need this for closure and no one really cares. Would love to hear your thoughts.' Portions of the text thread were redacted. However, hours later, Barreto texted Fernandez Rundle again: 'Kathy, please call to discuss this.' Joel Denaro, the attorney for Andres and Melissa Fernandez, Lucy's mother, declined to comment on the texts. 'The Fernandez Family is not prepared to make a statement at this time because of the pending criminal litigation and because they need time to process what they are learning,' Denaro told the Herald. On Aug. 1, 2023, Fernandez Rundle texted Barreto, 'GM! Was trying to reach you regarding the boating case.' The other text messages were redacted. Later that month, the State Attorney's Office, working with the FWC, charged Pino with three counts of careless boating in the crash, criminal misdemeanors punishable by up to 60 days in jail for each count. READ MORE: Injured girl's family 'outraged' at minor charges in fatal Florida Keys boat crash probe On May 13, 2024, Barreto texted Fernandez Rundle again, 'He gave consent to remove props and dive the hull,' referencing Pino's consent to search his boat. Fernandez Rundle responded with a thumbs up. The rest of the exchange was redacted. The day after the crash, FWC investigators found 61 empty booze bottles and cans on the boat, which they had pulled from the water after it had capsized in the crash. Pino's attorney, Howard Srebnick, said the empty containers stemmed from five boats tied up that day on Elliott Key, but hasn't disclosed the boaters' names. In a statement Friday morning, the family of Katerina 'Katy' Puig, the now 20-year-old who was seriously injured and is still relearning how to walk after the crash, said they are 'forced to confront the deeply troubling reality that continues to emerge from the handing of this case. 'Katy's parents are still processing these painful recent revelations,' the statement said. 'Their sorrow continues to be compounded by shock, disbelief, and disgust. While we are relieved and grateful that Mr. Pino was finally charged with the appropriate felony—Vessel Homicide—the path to that charge has been littered with incompetence, misconduct and missteps that can only be described as a mockery of justice.' The family is calling on legislators to probe the FWC's investigation of the crash. Barreto: Involved in policy, not investigations On Wednesday, Barreto told the Herald that his involvement in the Pino probe was minimal and said his conversations with Fernandez Rundle mostly involved how the FWC and the State Attorney's Office could work together better on boat cases involving fatalities and serious injuries. At one point, Barreto said he brought FWC's leadership from Tallahassee to meet with Fernandez Rundle's office. Barreto had previously told the Herald his role at the FWC is policy making, not the law enforcement aspect of the agency. FWC police officers investigate boating accidents. 'I do not get in the way of these investigations,' Barreto told the Herald two weeks ago. 'We're gonna call it like it is. We've got no dog in this fight. It doesn't matter who these people are.' Last month, a video surfaced of Barreto speaking on a radio show weeks after the crash and acknowledging to the hosts that he knew Pino personally. Barreto told the Herald that he knows Pino, but not well, and has never spoken with him about the case. Barreto is a Coral Gables developer; Pino is a Doral real estate broker. READ MORE: State Senate confirms Barreto as FWC chair, despite dozens urging senators to block his bid Barreto said he talks to Fernandez Rundle often because they have known each other for decades, since he was a Miami police officer and Fernandez Rundle was a prosecutor under former State Attorney Janet Reno. 'Basically, I've known her my entire adult life,' Barreto said. Miami-Dade State Attorney's Office spokesperson Ed Griffith acknowledged the two have worked together often and said Barreto has also 'often lent the State Attorney his support and voice during the Florida Legislative session.' 'Years of interactions have made State Attorney Katherine Fernandez Rundle and Chairman Rodney Barreto both friends and effective working associates, so I would naturally expect numerous conversations between the two on a wide range of issues and topics,' Griffith said in a statement to the Herald Wednesday. No sobriety test On the night of the crash, FWC investigators did not give Pino a sobriety test, even though they are trained to do so in boating accidents with serious injuries. Investigators on the scene knew that four of the 14 people on the boat were airlifted as trauma alert patients by Miami-Dade Fire Rescue, including Lucy Fernandez, who died the next day in the hospital. In addition, Pino told FWC investigators on the scene that he had 'two beers' that day. The Pinos were celebrating their daughter's 18th birthday and she had invited 11 of her close girlfriends — all underage — to go on the Sept. 4, 2022, outing to Elliott Key in Biscayne Bay. The FWC has maintained it did not have probable cause to get a warrant to force Pino to take a sobriety test. But the FWC could have contacted the State Attorney's Office, which has a prosecutor on call 24/7 to help officers get a search warrant, arrest warrants and court orders in these types of cases. In fact, the second page of a State Attorney Office's slideshow for the FWC on vessel homicides gives the hotline number for the prosecutors. The FWC didn't call. READ MORE: How investigators, prosecutors bungled probe into boat crash that killed teen girl Missing FWC body camera footage In recent weeks, the Herald reported that John Dalton, a Miami-Dade Sheriff's Office detective who was on the scene of the crash, said in a deposition that he suggested that FWC officers test Pino for alcohol that night. 'Well, yes. Obviously, you can do a blood draw,' Dalton told one of the FWC officers on the scene, according to the testimony he gave to a Pino attorney and prosecutor. 'I mean, [Pino's] involved in a crash that has potential for a fatality or serious bodily injury. You can force a blood draw on him with a warrant. And you can take one right now, with exigent circumstances. You have fire-rescue here. It's something you might be able to do right now.' READ MORE: Miami-Dade cop suggested FWC should do alcohol test at Pino boat crash scene, testimony shows The Herald also reported that the body camera footage of four FWC officers who were in close proximity to Pino that night — Julien Gazzola, Keith Hernandez, Hanna Hayden and Jesse Whitt — was deleted. Gazzola told an attorney for Pino that Pino smelled of alcohol, had 'bloodshot eyes' and was disoriented. None of the officers, aside from Gazzola, reported seeing signs that Pino was impaired. The FWC says the officers' footage was deleted after the officers classified it as 'incidental,' not criminal, when they uploaded it into the FWC's computer system. 'Incidental' footage is automatically deleted after 90 days; footage from a criminal investigation has to be retained five years for misdemeanor charges and 13 years for a felony charge, according to the FWC's policy. Rep. Vicki Lopez, the Miami-Dade state House member who sponsored 'Lucy's Law,' which calls for tougher penalties for boat operators in crashes with serious injury starting July 1, has called on her colleagues in the Legislature to investigate how the officers' footage was deleted. Pino was initially charged with three misdemeanors but those charges were upgraded to a felony vessel homicide charge on Oct. 31. The State Attorney's Office reopened its investigation after a Miami-Dade firefighter at the scene came forward and said he observed Pino showing signs of intoxication that day. The firefighter spoke up following a series of Miami Herald articles detailing flaws in the investigation, including FWC officers never following up with eyewitnesses. Pino has pleaded not guilty and is tentatively scheduled to stand trial in September. If convicted, he faces up to 15 years in prison.
