MTA conductor slashed in face while announcing Bronx train delays
The 36-year-old woman was attacked on the platform of the No. 6 train in the Whitlock Avenue subway station at around 12:23 p.m., according to the NYPD.
More Local News
The conductor was announcing train delays when the suspect came up to her and allegedly said, 'no one will tell him what to do,' according to the New York Transit Union.
The suspect then allegedly cut the worker on the left side of her face, near her eye, officials said. She was taken hospital for treatment and needed stitches to close the gash, officials said.
'The union is calling on the city to notify police patrols to be especially vigilant and cover the conductor's cab area as they work to reduce crime. This easily could have been a deadly assault — we must do everything we can to prevent the next one,' Union President John V. Chiarello said in a statement.
The suspect ran off after the incident and was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and green pants, police said.
There have been no arrests.
Submit tips to police by calling Crime Stoppers at 1-800-577-TIPS (8477), visiting crimestoppers.nypdonline.org, downloading the NYPD Crime Stoppers mobile app, or texting 274637 (CRIMES) then entering TIP577. Spanish-speaking callers are asked to dial 1-888-57-PISTA (74782).
Mira Wassef is a digital reporter who has covered news and sports in the NYC area for more than a decade. She has been with PIX11 News for two years. See more of her work here.
Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.

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EDITOR'S NOTE: This story contains graphic descriptions of violence. During evening rush hour in New York City on Monday, a man calmly walked into a Park Avenue office building lobby and killed a police officer, then opened fire on other innocent strangers. Within a minute, the gunman had disappeared into a labyrinth of elevator banks and hallways, armed and loose somewhere in the 44-story building. The day's violence would become the deadliest mass shooting in New York City since 2000. The gunman shot and killed four people and wounded another, before killing himself, police said. From the moment the first panicked 911 calls were received, the New York Police Department unleashed a torrent of cops, specially trained units, heavy weapons, sophisticated technology and a swift information exchange among its 32,000 police officers and law enforcement partners across the country. As calls flooded in, the NYPD's electronic log system captured the horror happening in real time inside the Park Avenue skyscraper. The shorthand notes, obtained by CNN, show the desperation of frightened callers as operators attempted to piece together what was happening. 'INVESTIGATE/POSSIBLE CRIME: SHOTS FIRED/INSIDE\ACTIVE_SHOOTER,' read one note. 'ACTIVE SHOOTER IN THE BUILDING AND LOCKED SELF IN ROOM,' the log notes a female caller reported. Additional calls are logged: '7-8 SHOTS HEARD,' 'LOCATION IS NFL HEADQUARTERS,' 'SHOOTER IN BUILDING.' Another female caller reported her husband telling her he's in a locked room, according to the log. From precinct officers to specialized commands, swarms of law enforcement teams raced to the scene. The NYPD's Emergency Service Unit, which operates as a SWAT team, entered the building and began a systematic search for the gunman, who was somewhere inside. At the same time, officers from the Strategic Response Command, providing an additional long-weapons team, set up a perimeter and established a safe corridor known as a 'warm zone' to get medical personnel in and wounded victims out while the search for the gunman continued, law enforcement officials said. While those teams secured the area outside, detectives made their way into the skyscraper and examined surveillance video in the building's control center. They took a screengrab of the gunman, and using technology developed by NYPD Commissioner Jessica Tisch, blasted the image to NYPD officers' department-issued phones. Within minutes, every officer searching the building or holding the outside perimeter had a picture of a man taking large strides and carrying an assault rifle, the officials said. The gunman was identified after responding teams found his body on the building's 33rd floor: 27-year-old Shane Devon Tamura of Las Vegas, Nevada. New details from law enforcement sources shed light on Tamura's travel to New York City, the gunman's movements inside the building and the police investigation. Here's what we've learned about the shooting at 345 Park Avenue: From Las Vegas to New York City Officers found Tamura's black Series 3 BMW double-parked in front of the Park Avenue building, and then used his name, vehicle registration and a disjointed suicide note found in his back pocket to pull together a timeline of Tamura's path to the carnage. On Saturday, July 26, two days before the shooting, a license plate reader in Loma, Colorado, recorded Tamura's car with Nevada license plates passing through at 1:06 p.m., according to a law enforcement official. On Sunday, Tamura did not show up for his surveillance job as part of the security team at the Horseshoe Casino in Las Vegas. He was miles away. Tamura's black BMW was spotted driving eastbound on Interstate 80 by a license plate reader (LPR) owned by the Nebraska State Patrol. Later, an LPR operated by the Scott County Sheriff's Office recorded the car on I-80 near Wolcott, Indiana. At 4:24 p.m. Monday, a camera attached to the New Jersey State Police's real-time crime center took a picture of his BMW, this time along I-80 in Columbia, New Jersey, nearly two hours before the rampage would begin. Tamura arrives at his intended target Two senior law enforcement officials who reviewed video from the Midtown Manhattan office building provided the following account of the gunman's movements on Monday: At 6:26 p.m., Tamura double-parked outside 345 Park Avenue. He got out of the car carrying the M4 semi-automatic rifle, crossed the sidewalk and then the broad plaza leading to the office building's entrance. One minute later, Tamura entered the building. Inside, Tamura turned to his right to face uniformed NYPD officer Didarul Islam and shot him, killing the 36-year-old father of two who was expecting his third child. As Islam fell, Craig Clementi, who works in the NFL's finance department, was also shot. Clementi called his coworkers to warn them that a gunman was in the lobby firing shots, and then called 911, according to one of the senior officials. Wesley LePatner, a 43-year-old Blackstone executive, was shot as she moved toward a pillar in the lobby, police said. LePatner died from her wounds. Tamura then shot Aland Etienne, a 46-year-old security guard. Wounded, Etienne crawled toward the console behind the security desk and collapsed. Tamura went to an elevator bank on the opposite side of the lobby to the elevators that go up to the NFL offices. Officials have said investigators believe Tamura was headed for the NFL offices at the time of the shooting, but took the wrong elevator. He ignored a woman exiting an elevator car, entered it and then pressed 33, the lowest available on its panel, according to one of the senior law enforcement officials. Once on the 33rd floor, Tamura faced glass walls with locked doors on either end of the hallway. These were the offices of Rudin Management, the company that runs the building. Tamura tried opening the doors, then opened fire on the glass and kicked through it to enter the floor, officials said. By then, it was likely he realized he wasn't at the NFL offices, according to the officials. Tamura saw an office cleaner, Sebije Nelovic, and opened fire but missed her, she said in a statement released by her union. Nelovic said she ran down the hallway and locked herself in a closet. She heard screams and more gunfire, she said, describing the gunman at one point shooting the door she was hiding behind. As shots rang out, frantic employees called 911 and barricaded themselves in offices and conference rooms. Their desperate calls reported how many shots they had heard, where they were hiding and where they believed the gunman was moving, according to a radio call log reviewed by CNN. Over the years, Rudin Management conducted active shooter drills and training for its employees. Their offices on the 33rd floor have bathrooms designed as safe rooms, in the event of an incident just like the one that unfolded Monday, the officials said. The rooms are outfitted with bullet-proof doors that lock with bolts from the inside, and their walls are lined with Kevlar. Each bathroom is equipped with a video feed showing the hallway outside and a dedicated telephone line. Julia Hyman, a 27-year-old Rudin Management employee who was working late, was in one of those very bathrooms designed as a safe room. It is not clear whether she had heard the shots or understood what was unfolding outside. She stepped outside the bathroom, and walked three or four steps, apparently unaware that the gunman was behind her. He fired, striking her in the back. Wounded, Hyman stumbled to her desk and died from her wounds, according to one of the officials who reviewed the video. By this time, it appeared Tamura realized there were no more accessible targets in the office, and, with police swarming the building, it was not likely he was going to find his way to the NFL, the official said. A few seconds after shooting Hyman, video is said to show Tamura stood next to a desk, held out his arms to aim the rifle at his own chest and used his thumb to pull the trigger, firing a single round, the official said. His body dropped to the floor, his rifle falling next to him. Tamura had fired most of two 30-round magazines of .223 ammunition in a matter of minutes, the official said. Throughout the night and into the morning, police collected evidence from where the victims lay and from the areas where shots were fired. In the building lobby, 23 shell casings and more than a dozen ricocheted bullet fragments were recovered, according to an NYPD official. In the 33rd floor offices of Rudin Management, investigators from the NYPD's Crime Scene Unit found another 24 shell casings from Tamura's M4 rifle, as well as 15 bullet fragments, the NYPD official said. Tracing the gun Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives agents on the scene received the rifle's serial number, and within minutes detectives learned the rifle had been purchased on August 29, 2024, by a Las Vegas man identified as 'Rick,' a coworker of Tamura's at the Horseshoe Casino, according to documents reviewed by CNN. 'Rick' has not responded to CNN's requests for comment. The NYPD Intelligence Bureau's SENTRY unit, which maintains a national network of law-enforcement contacts, then reached out to Las Vegas Sheriff Kevin McMahill, who sent detectives to interview 'Rick.' 'Rick' had also sold Tamura the black BMW he drove across the country, according to Nevada DMV records. Other Las Vegas sheriff's deputies were dispatched to Tamura's apartment to seal it while awaiting a search warrant. Another team went to interview Tamura's parents, who lived nearby. The Las Vegas Metro Police Crime Stoppers hotline received a call at 8:25 p.m. the night of the shooting. A licensed gun dealer had seen the picture of Tamura and remembered his face. In June, he had sold him a modified trigger for an M4 rifle. Tamura had also told the dealer that he planned to buy 500 rounds of .223 ammunition for the assault rifle, a law enforcement official told CNN. Back in New York, Tamura's BMW was cleared by the bomb squad. Detectives recovered 827 rounds for a stainless steel .357 magnum Colt Python revolver. According to the same official, the gun was fully loaded with another six rounds in the cylinder.


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‘Dehumanizing': Inside the Broadview ICE facility where immigrants sleep on cold concrete
The sounds of weeping mothers curled on cold concrete floors echoed through the walls at the federal immigration processing center in Broadview, keeping Gladis Chavez awake for most of the night. The cries came in waves, she recalled. Quiet whimpers, choked gasps and occasional prayers. About children left behind and fears of what would happen next. Most of the women who had been detained at a routine check-in June 4 at a U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement office in Chicago now had nothing but each other and a few jackets they shared to fight off the nightly chill that seeped into their bones in a nondescript brick building just off the Eisenhower Expressway. By day three, Chavez said, her body ached with exhaustion. On day four, she and some of the other women were finally transferred out. The west suburban processing center is designed to hold people for no more than 12 hours before transferring them to a formal immigration detention facility. It has no beds, let alone any covers, Chavez said. They were not offered showers or hot food. No toothbrushes or feminine products. And certainly, Chavez recalled, those detained had no answers from immigration authorities about what would happen next. An investigation by the Chicago Tribune found that immigration detainees such as Chavez have been held for days at the processing center, a two-story building that is designed as a temporary way station until detainees can be transferred to jails out of state. For busier periods in June, data shows the typical detainee was held two or three days — far longer than the five or so hours typical in years past. The findings, which come from a Tribune analysis of the U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement data obtained and shared by the research group Deportation Data Project, show that the federal agency has routinely violated ICE's internal guidelines, which say the facility shouldn't hold people for more than 12 hours. Chavez became one of hundreds of people held in the facility for longer than 12 hours under the latest crackdown. Data showed that at least three people spent six or more days there. 'There were nearly 30 other women there in a single big room. Most were mothers who couldn't stop crying. The group of men were in a separate room,' Chavez said in Spanish, speaking to the Tribune in a Zoom interview from Honduras. In the group, she said, she met women who were nursing, pregnant women and elderly women. 'I never want any of my children, or any other person to go through this. It's dehumanizing, they treat us worse than criminals,' Chavez said. ICE, for its part, declined to respond to questions about the Tribune's findings and has not released its own data calculating how often it has held people in Broadview. But on the agency's website, it says it employs 'a robust, multilevel oversight and compliance program' to ensure each facility follows a 'strict set of detention standards.' A spokesperson for ICE reportedly told ABC 7 that: 'Any accusations that detainees are treated inhumanely in any way are categorically false. … There are occasions where detainees might need to stay at the Broadview office longer than the anticipated administrative processing time. While these instances are a rarity, detainees in such situations are given ample food, regular access to phones, showers and legal representation as well as medical care when needed.' Few can get inside to see what's going on, frustrating immigrant rights advocates and their allies in Congress. In mid-June, as the facility was cycling through detainees such as Chavez, four Democratic members of Congress were denied entry into the Broadview facility during an unannounced visit. On Wednesday, a dozen Democratic members of Congress who have been blocked from making oversight visits at immigration detention centers filed a federal lawsuit against President Donald Trump's administration that seeks to ensure they are granted entry into the facilities, including Broadview, even without prior notice. In Illinois, immigrant rights advocates are urging Illinois Attorney General Kwame Raoul to investigate the Broadview facility's ownership structure and contractual agreements with federal immigration authorities. They're also calling for a full site inspection and for the state to use all available legal tools to shut the facility down. State and local officials, however, say there's little they can do to force the U.S. government to change how it operates a federal facility. The longer detention times in Broadview have come as the Trump administration has pushed a massive boost in arrests while scrambling to build out the infrastructure to handle them, creating logistical logjams that can be particularly felt in Illinois, which has forbid local jails from holding ICE detainees. That means anyone arrested in the Chicago area must be sent out of state, once they're processed by ICE. So, for now, that can mean a small processing facility in the western suburbs — one that rarely held anyone overnight during the final years of President Joe Biden's administration — can end up warehousing dozens of detainees as they await ICE to move them. State Sen. Omar Aquino, a Chicago Democrat, was the primary sponsor of the Illinois Way Forward Act, which also limited local jails from contracting with ICE. He did not respond to questions regarding the unintentional hardships detainees are now facing because of the law. Instead, he said he 'stand(s) by the progress we have made in solidifying Illinois as a welcoming state, where immigrant families can live without fear and raise their children in a safe and supportive environment.' Chavez, who had been an immigration advocate in Chicago for nearly a decade, was deported on July 13 back to her native Honduras after spending more than a month in different ICE facilities in Illinois and Kentucky. She said she still feels traumatized by a system that separated her from her children and grandchildren while causing emotional and physical pain. Her ankles are still swollen from being shackled as she moved from one facility to another flown back to Honduras. 'I'm trying to heal both emotionally and physically,' she said. In 2023, the Department of Homeland Security, the parent agency of ICE, described the Broadview facility as a '12-hour hold facility with the typical stay of approximately five hours,' with a DHS auditor noting that 'absent exceptional circumstances, no detainee should be housed in a holding facility for longer than 12 hours.' When the members of Congress attempted to visit the site in June, Rep. Delia Ramirez noted, in a speech on the House floor, that ICE had posted a sign saying that the agency only 'processes' arrestees there and 'does not house aliens at these locations.' Yet, ICE's own data would suggest otherwise. The Tribune examined an ICE dataset, provided through the Deportation Data Project, that recorded dates and times of everyone detained at an ICE facility across the country, from September 2023 through June 26. The data had limitations. ICE recorded a time, down to the minute, when each person was checked in and out, but the Tribune found that the logs sometimes recorded people leaving Broadview only a minute or two before entering another facility hundreds of miles away, suggesting ICE may not have properly logged when someone left. To adjust for that, the Tribune computed earlier times people may have left Broadview, based on reasonable travel times from Broadview to the next ICE facilities — calculated through online mapping software and more plausible entries by ICE for others sent the same places. Even adjusting down the length of potential stays in Broadview, the analysis found a clear jump in how long detainees were held there, particularly earlier this summer. The median time logged for someone — meaning that half had shorter stays and half had longer — jumped beyond 12 hours for people booked into Broadview by mid-June. The median time continued rising as the month continued, eclipsing 24 hours for the typical detainee before they left Broadview, and then two days and sometimes three days. Even when the figures were averaged out over seven days — to smooth out any abnormally busy or slow days — the median stay in Broadview approached 48 hours for detainees, or four times as long as the 12-hour ICE guideline. While the ICE data doesn't name those detained, Chavez's biographical data and description of her journey through ICE facilities matched what was logged for one person. The log describes a Honduran woman as a widow, born the same year as her, with no criminal record but a deportation order issued in January, who was booked into the Broadview facility the morning of June 4 and not transferred out until more than three days later. The Tribune analysis found that ICE booked more arrestees on June 4 — 88 — than any on other day covered by the data. They joined another 23 who had been shipped that day to Broadview from facilities in Wisconsin and Indiana that house ICE detainees, as ICE shuffled detainees across the country. That made it the busiest day for bookings in Broadview through late June, as ICE ramped up enforcement in the Chicago area, and fueled the long stays in a place where advocates and family members of the detained say people have been held without basic necessities or medical care. In the federal government's 2023 audit of the facility, it confirmed the facility has six holding cells — two large ones, two smaller ones and two single-occupancy — with the four largest cells each having a toilet for detainees to share, as well as 'a place to sit while awaiting processing.' The audit said the facility lacked a medical unit, medical staff, food facilities or food staff. 'While the two large holding rooms are equipped with a single shower; these showers are inoperable, and the space is currently used for storage,' the 2023 audit noted. Marina Lopez Perez also was detained on June 4 after she showed up to a check-in with ICE in its South Loop facility. The Guatemala native spent three days in Broadview before she was taken to Grayson Country Detention Center in Kentucky, where she awaits her release or deportation. She left behind three children, two of them U.S. citizens, and a husband. She calls when she can, said her husband, who asked that his name be withheld, fearing ICE retaliation. Though he first tried to shield their two younger kids from the truth, telling them that their mother was at work, time, fear and reality that she may be deported, caught up to him. Now the children know, though they don't fully understand, that their mother is in jail. 'There are times when I hear her crying through the phone,' Lopez's husband said. 'I know it is not easy to be in there.' Their older son, a 13-year-old, whose name the Tribune is withholding at the family's request, said he worries constantly about his mother, especially after learning about the complaints of conditions at facilities such as Broadview. 'There are nights when I can't sleep thinking about my mom,' the teen said. 'I wonder if she's sleeping, or if she even got to eat.' Immigrant rights advocates complain that such conditions not only violate detainees' human rights, but also ICE's own policies. 'It's overflowed. They're not able to take people out within the times they are supposed to,' said Brandon Lee, with the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights. In July, advocates outlined their concerns about the Broadview facility's violations of state law in a letter to Raoul and Cook County State's Attorney Eileen O'Neill Burke, asking for their support. But both elected officials said that they do not possess direct investigating authority over ICE. Raoul added that only Congress could step in, while noting that reports of conditions at Broadview, 'while disturbing, are consistent with the deplorable conditions we have seen at federal ICE facilities around the nation.' Fred Tsao, senior policy counsel at the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights, agreed that state law cannot force changes at federally operated facilities like Broadview. He said the group is pushing Congress for more oversight of ICE operations, which the Republican-controlled body infused with a significant boost in cash to ramp up immigration enforcement, including building new detention centers. Some advocates want Broadview shut down altogether. 'The 'facilities' also use torture-based tactics to create an even more hostile environment inside for immigrants — from lights on all the time that don't let them sleep, lack of medical care, lack of mental health support from officers — to the point that individuals detained had to create networks of emotional support,' said Antonio Gutierrez, co-founder and current Strategic Coordinator for Organized Communities Against Deportations. Without oversight, federal agencies may get away with violating their own rules and with that the rights of immigrants, said Ramirez, who represents Illinois' 3rd Congressional District. In a speech on the House floor June 25, Ramirez noted the irony that ICE insisted the Broadview facility was a processing center, and not a detention center, so it didn't have to allow members of Congress inside. 'Let me be very clear. Just because something isn't named a detention facility doesn't mean this administration isn't going to use it as one,' she said at the time. 'If people are detained there, it is a detention facility, period.' For now, the families of detained loved ones endure — whether it is Chavez back in Honduras, thousands of miles away from her three children, or Lopez, who is only a couple of hundred of miles away from her three children, but still unable to see them. Even if Lopez's husband wanted to take the children to see their mother in detention, the trip would be too difficult, he said. The family lives in north suburban Lake County and Lopez is in Kentucky. Chavez said she is still trying to comprehend how she ended up detained, sleeping on the cold floor in Broadview, shackled and deprived of basic necessities. 'We prayed. Sometimes we braided each other's hair. We cried,' recalling her detention in Broadview and Kentucky, Chavez said. Her lawyer said they will continue to appeal her asylum case from Honduras.