Man charged in stabbing, robbery near downtown Santa Fe bar
Santa Fe police filed charges Monday against Angelo Vigil, who officers say lured another man away from The Matador — a bar on Galisteo Street — and robbed him at knifepoint with two others before one of the men stabbed the victim three times.
Court records indicate Vigil has lived in Santa Fe for years, but the address on file for the most recent charges is located in Albuquerque.
Vigil, 26, faces charges of aggravated battery with a deadly weapon, armed robbery and two counts of conspiracy, according to a criminal complaint filed Monday in Santa Fe County Magistrate Court.
An arrest warrant was issued Monday against Vigil on the charges, but he had not been arrested as of Tuesday, said Santa Fe police Lt. Jimmie Montoya.
Montoya said officers were still working to identify the other two men involved in the incident, including the man who appears to have stabbed the victim, a 39-year-old man from out of town.
Investigators wrote in an affidavit they retrieved surveillance video from a nearby storefront that captured the incident, which took place just after 2 a.m. less than a block from the bar on the sidewalk of Galisteo Street.
Police wrote Vigil could be seen in the video wearing a #21 San Antonio Spurs jersey with a black undershirt and glasses, and that he could be seen walking with the victim away from the entrance of The Matador.
The victim told police during an interview Sunday the bar had closed and he was waiting for his ride outside when one of the men — later identified by police as Vigil — approached him and told him about an after-party, luring him away from the crowd, the affidavit states.
After they walked down the sidewalk, he told police, three other men walked up and one of them told him to give them everything he had. He said he handed over his Rolex watch, a chain necklace and about $500 in cash from his pocket. The victim told officers the gold chain was worth about $500 and his watch was valued at about $12,000, investigators wrote.
The men could be seen on surveillance video walking with Vigil down Guadalupe to a spot in front of a gallery down the block, the affidavit says. After the other men walked up to them, a man who was wearing a black hoodie and tan pants could be seen in the video grabbing at the victim's shirt and then, after a "brief struggle," making three consecutive motions toward the victim's abdomen, police wrote. The three men police consider to be suspects could then be seen running west on Water Street while the fourth unknown man walked back toward The Matador with the victim, according to investigators.
Police and paramedics were dispatched to the scene outside The Matador just before 2:30 a.m. Sunday, the affidavit states, and officers found the victim leaning against a wall with stab wounds to his abdomen as another man applied pressure to the wounds with a shirt. The victim was taken to an area hospital for treatment of his injuries and was in stable condition, police said at the time.
Investigators identified Vigil after several people commented on a Santa Fe police Facebook post identifying him as the man in the jersey, the affidavit states. Police then checked Vigil's Facebook account and found he had posted videos showing him in the same jersey in the hours before the incident, investigators wrote.
Vigil has faced about a dozen different criminal charges in Santa Fe County stretching back to 2017, but many of them have been dismissed by prosecutors. He was convicted in 2021 on counts of shoplifting, robbery and receiving or transferring stolen motor vehicles and was sentenced to two and a half years in prison, according to a court order. He was then kept at Santa Fe County jail for a year after violating the conditions of his release, and he was released from jail in October 2024, according to court records.
While Vigil was an inmate at Santa Fe County jail in 2019, he was accused of stealing a commissary card from another man worth $10, according to a criminal complaint filed in the incident. Sheriff's deputies alleged Vigil and another inmate held the man down and took the "calling card" out of the pocket of his jumpsuit.
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As Joe Vigil inspected a gutted former retail space in one of Antioch's highest-crime corridors, the newly appointed police chief let out an exasperated sigh. That empty storefront at the center of Sycamore Square, a graffiti-tagged shopping center known for frequent shootings, was supposed to be reopening soon as the Antioch Police Department's new satellite office. But, as Vigil surveyed the building's interior in early July, he saw wires dangling where lights once hung, cracked floor tiles and dirty walls with white space outlining where a cash register once stood. 'This is worse than I expected,' said Vigil, a tall, bearded man with a stout build. 'It's going to require some serious work to get this place up to par.' The same goes for Antioch's entire police department. During the four months since Vigil was elevated from acting chief to the permanent job, he has overseen one of the bigger resurrections in Bay Area law enforcement. 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It has no youth sports leagues, no top-rated schools and nowhere to see a first-run movie. Its poverty and eviction rates hover far above region-wide averages. And, with few sizable employers in town beyond the local hospitals and schools, Antioch workers have one of the nation's longest average commutes: 43 minutes. Like many other suburbs grappling with big-city problems such as gun violence, homelessness and racial strife, this oft-overlooked community surrounded by cherry orchards and vineyards also faces a significant budget deficit. Yet, unless Vigil eases public-safety concerns, Antioch likely won't attract the businesses and foot traffic it needs to avoid further cuts to essential city services. Asked whether he felt any pressure, he clenched his jaw as he tried to find the right words. Finally, after a couple of moments, Vigil admitted that he is keenly aware of everything at stake. 'If Joe can't make people trust our police department again,' Council Member Don Freitas later told the Chronicle, 'Antioch can't really move forward.' While guiding his black Ford Expedition down a trash-strewn street on the west side of town, Vigil peered out his window at a weatherworn apartment complex with boarded-up windows. A Black, elementary-school-age girl wearing a backpack half her size grabbed her father's hand as she skipped toward a bus stop. In many of Antioch's children, Vigil sees his younger self. While growing up about 40 miles away in Fairfield, he assumed he'd join the military like his dad, in part because he knew his family couldn't afford to send him to college. What drew Vigil to law enforcement instead was the chance to serve other people who might be struggling to get by. Once considered the 'unofficial foreclosure capital of the Bay Area,' Antioch could surely use the help. Founded in 1849 as a shipping port, and named after the ancient Syrian city where Christ's followers were first called Christians, Contra Costa County's oldest community has spent decades enduring what experts dub the 'flip side of gentrification.' According to the 1980 census, only about 10% of the city's roughly 43,000 residents were people of color. Real estate booms pushed many Blacks and Latinos to flee rising costs in San Francisco and Oakland for cheaper rent or first-time home ownership in Antioch. By the time 76% of the city's roughly 117,000 residents were people of color in early 2023, news of racist texts among officers was confirming what many had long suspected about the Antioch Police Department's ethos. 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'With the department in crisis mode, he stepped up to the plate when few others in his situation probably would have.' To some outside officers, Antioch's police chief vacancy was a legacy position — a chance to shape a city's future and leave a lasting mark. Sources say several former chiefs applied. Among them: Carmen Best, Seattle's first Black female police chief, who resigned in 2020 amid major budget cuts. So, why would Antioch opt for Vigil? He wasn't only around for Antioch's scandals — to some residents, he enabled the most corrupt officers. In November 2023, the Bay Area News Group reported that Vigil and other high-ranking officers OK'd in internal reviews certain use-of-force incidents, which a federal grand jury later cited as evidence of the Antioch police department's 'scheme' to violate residents' civil rights. When the report prompted community organizers to call for Vigil to resign from his post as acting chief, he refused. What that piece omitted: Antioch officers didn't have body cameras when the incidents in question happened. Due to budgetary issues that caused the City Council to vote down that costly hardware, Vigil's reviews were based almost exclusively on the officers' written description of events. 'To be honest, if I had to do it all over again with the same resources I had at that time, I would've made the same decision,' he told the Chronicle. 'I did the best I could with what I had available.' Scott, Antioch's new city manager, recognized as much. When the City Council hired her in October 2024, it did so based on her experience navigating police misconduct fallout. During her six years helping hold a scandal-prone Seattle Police Department accountable, Scott learned the importance of finding the right cultural fit for chief, not just chasing the biggest possible name. While working with a third-party search firm to vet dozens of national candidates, she kept coming back to Vigil. He began to gain credibility locally by asking for community feedback, bolstering patrol units in the city's highest-crime neighborhoods and publicly admitting the obvious: We have to be better. By the time Scott announced the start of Vigil's second interim tenure this past January at the police station, dozens of people stood and applauded. 'For me, seeing that community trust in him was really pretty impressive,' Scott said. 'It showed me that we were already crossing the threshold of a culture change.' A chaotic schedule affords Vigil little time for decorating. His office remains empty, aside from a family photo on his desk, a motorcycle helmet next to his computer and a Beta Ray Bill action figure on a shelf. Like most police chiefs, Vigil reports to the city manager. What makes Vigil's situation unique is that for the foreseeable future, he must also report to the U.S. Department of Justice, the California Department of Justice and a city-run police oversight commission — all of which became involved with the department because of the sprawling texting scandal. His top priority is to ensure Antioch adheres to the Department of Justice's 25-page memorandum of understanding, which details policies covering everything from use-of-force documentation to community-engagement programs. If Vigil commits even a minor breach of protocol, he risks city officials cycling to their sixth police chief in four years. 'Joe is under a microscope,' Freitas said. 'Really, he has no room for error.' Such rigid guidelines haven't stopped Vigil from being resourceful. To restock Antioch's patrol units, he and other department leaders took out ads in magazines and on billboards. They mined police academies in the Central Valley and Sacramento for new cadets. On a handful of occasions, they set up recruiting booths at local gyms. Through it all, the crux of Vigil's pitch didn't change: Earn a starting salary of around $116,000 while helping resuscitate a city. Antioch now has 90 full-time officers. While steering his SUV past a 24 Hour Fitness on the east side of town, Vigil leaned back in the driver's seat and smiled. At some point this fall, he expects the department to have 105 sworn officers. 'We actually just canceled our gym recruiting because our numbers are up so much,' he said. About 80% of Antioch's officers are under 26. As Vigil put it, 'We're starting with a clean slate, and so are they.' Though reports of rape and aggravated assault were up over the first half of this year compared to the same stretch last year, robberies and shootings nose-dived. The two homicides in Antioch so far in 2025 are less than a third of the city's count at this point in 2024. 'Given where the city was, things could only get better (under Vigil), which is what's happening,' said civil rights attorney Ben Nisenbaum, who was among the lawyers representing residents in a federal lawsuit filed in April 2023 — and tentatively settled earlier this year — against Antioch police officers tied to the texting scandal. 'But the trajectory has to be maintained, and there's a lot of work to still be done.' While cruising through a sleepy downtown, Vigil pointed out the beauty of the San Joaquin River peeking over the buildings in the distance. Though some of the barbershops, thrift stores and restaurants had chipped paint or faded signage, the area's early 20th century brick facades, ironwork balconies and Spanish-style bell tower offered quiet reminders of a more vibrant past. Soon enough, Vigil figures, downtown will thrive again. There are fewer 'For Lease' signs in storefront windows than there were a few months ago. In late June, downtown Antioch began hosting the city's first weekly farmers' market. 'To me,' Mayor Ron Bernal said, 'that's as big an indicator as any that the tides are shifting here.' What might matter more is how people perceive crime in their community. For well over a decade, real estate developer Sean McCauley has invested in downtown Antioch in hopes of spearheading a resurgence there reminiscent of the one he helped spur nearby in downtown Brentwood. The big problem was often the lack of police. Now, the same tenants that used to complain to McCauley about officers not responding to break-ins or robberies tell him that officers pull up within 20 minutes of being called. 'It's a night-and-day difference,' said McCauley, who owns more than a dozen buildings downtown. 'Not that long ago, you could go an entire day in Antioch without seeing a single officer.' Families that used to seldom leave their apartments are now running errands without fear, even at night. 'And, when something like a mugging or domestic issue does come up,' local pastor Ruben Herrera said, 'the cops are actually communicating with us directly about what's going on nearby, which never used to happen.' Vigil will need time, though, to repair Antioch's more complex issues. Shagoofa Khan was among the community members named by Antioch police officers in racist and misogynistic text messages. More than two years later, she still has a hard time trusting police. It's not just because some of the same officers who were supposed to protect her neighborhood were sexualizing her and making fun of her ethnicity in those texts. Three months after graduating from Cal State East Bay with a master's degree in public administration, Khan keeps hearing from government agencies that they can't hire her. Online reports related to her activism against Antioch's police department concern managers. Each time Khan opens another rejection email, it feels more and more like a silent penalty for speaking out. 'It's been really hard to deal with,' said Khan, who currently works as a community organizer for an Antioch-based nonprofit. 'I still have some trauma from everything that happened (with the scandal), and now it's like the hardships just won't end.' Vigil doesn't have to look far to see his city's continued struggles. On that July afternoon, after updating a room full of baby-faced officers about the department's improved staffing, Vigil climbed into his Expedition and made the nine-minute drive to Sycamore Square. As he pulled into the parking lot, a dozen men standing in front of La Bonita Market quickly scattered. Just within the past year, that run-down shopping center surrounded by low-income housing has had nearly 1,000 calls to 911, including more than 30 shootings. After stepping out of his SUV, Vigil faced an empty lot across the street from where Antioch police's new satellite office is set to open. For years, city leaders have talked about transforming the space into something worthwhile: maybe a community center, or a massive play structure. As Vigil stood there, all he saw were liquor bottles and drug paraphernalia poking through overgrown grass. 'This place motivates me because it kind of represents what was this town's problem for so long,' he said. 'People talk about change, but don't actually follow through. No more.'
