
Man accused of stabbing 11-year-old while wearing 'Scream' mask
Man accused of stabbing 11-year-old while wearing 'Scream' mask
An Indiana man was taken into custody after police say he stabbed an 11-year-old child this week.
Fort Wayne police responded to a reported stabbing at about 1:30 p.m. on June 12, according to a press release.
At the scene, officers discovered the victim, who had been stabbed in the abdomen, police said. The child suffered from non-life-threatening injuries and was taken to the hospital for treatment.
Police stated that during the crime, the suspect was wearing a "Scream" mask, which became widely recognized as Ghostface's from the classic slasher horror film originally released in 1996.
An investigation is underway.
News: 2-year-old NYC boy missing; police await ID of body pulled from Bronx river
Police: 27-year-old man faces felony charge
According to police, 27-year-old Trayveon Sewel was later arrested without incident in connection with the stabbing. He is facing criminal recklessness with a deadly weapon, a level 6 felony charge.
Jail records show that his bond was set at $50,000. Sewell's link to the child is not immediately clear.
Police are urging people with information related to the case to contact the department at (260) 427-1201.
Fort Wayne is about 125 miles northeast of Indianapolis.
Taylor Ardrey is a news reporter for USA TODAY. You can reach her at tardrey@gannett.com.

Try Our AI Features
Explore what Daily8 AI can do for you:
Comments
No comments yet...
Related Articles

USA Today
4 hours ago
- USA Today
Diddy trial updates: Jurors in Sean Combs case prepare for verdict deliberations
This story contains graphic descriptions that some readers may find disturbing. Jurors in Sean "Diddy" Combs' criminal trial are heading back to court as they prepare to deliberate on a verdict for the embattled hip-hop mogul. The 12-person jury, which has heard graphic testimony on Combs' alleged abuses from more than 30 witnesses, gathered again in Manhattan court on June 30 following the completion of closing arguments from Combs' attorneys on June 27. The defense took about five hours for closing arguments, with Combs' lawyer Marc Agnifilo framing the case as a "tale of two trials." He argued the case is about love, jealousy and money, not trafficking or racketeering, and accused the government of putting on a show to target a wealthy celebrity. Agnifilo claimed prosecutors distorted the Grammy-winning rapper's consensual sexual "lifestyle" into criminal acts while witnesses spoke of the "successful Black entrepreneur" as a respected and generous figure. Meanwhile, prosecutor Maurene Comey returned to the floor to present the government's rebuttal, focusing on previous remarks on Combs' former girlfriend Casandra "Cassie" Ventura Fine: "Mr. Agnifilo suggested Cassie was the winner of a prize. Black eyes? A gash in her head? Getting urinated in her mouth? How could anyone think that's a prize? That's ridiculous." Combs, 55, was arrested in September and charged with sex trafficking, racketeering and transportation to engage in prostitution. He has pleaded not guilty. Diddy on trial newsletter: Step inside the courtroom as music mogul faces sex-crimes charges What is Diddy charged with? Combs is facing federal sex-crimes and trafficking charges in a sprawling case that has eroded his status as a power player and kingmaker in the entertainment industry. He was arrested in September 2024 and later charged with racketeering, sex trafficking and transportation to engage in prostitution. The rapper has pleaded not guilty to the five counts against him. Discover WITNESS: Access our exclusive collection of true crime stories, podcasts, videos and more What is racketeering? Racketeering is the participation in an illegal scheme under the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Statute, or RICO, as a way for the U.S. government to prosecute organizations that contribute to criminal activity. Using RICO law, which is typically aimed at targeting multi-person criminal organizations, prosecutors allege that Combs coerced victims, some of whom they say were sex workers, through intimidation and narcotics to participate in "freak offs" — sometimes dayslong sex performances that federal prosecutors allege they have on video. How to stream the Diddy trial The trial will not be televised, as cameras are typically not allowed in federal criminal trial proceedings. USA TODAY will be reporting live from the courtroom. Sign up for our newsletter for more updates. Contributing: USA TODAY staff If you are a survivor of sexual assault, RAINN offers support through the National Sexual Assault Hotline at (4673) and and en Español If you or someone you know is a victim of domestic violence, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 800-799-7233 or text "START" to 88788.

USA Today
5 hours ago
- USA Today
Diddy faces same charge that brought down mob bosses. What is racketeering?
Passed in 1970, the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act targeting organized crime, most importantly mob bosses. Prosecutors say Diddy was the general of his own criminal organization. As jurors deliberate the fate of Sean "Diddy" Combs, they will have to decide whether his conduct amounted to adventurous sex, as his attorneys argue, or rose to the level of racketeering, a charge usually used against violent mob organizations. The jury is expected to begin deliberations this week after nearly two months of testimony in a New York courtroom. Among the questions they will need to answer for a racketeering conviction: Was Combs the head of a criminal organization? Did the people in the organization commit two types of so-called "predicate acts," such as sex trafficking and obstruction of justice? And did it happen more than once? Convicting someone on a racketeering charge is fairly simple and allows the government to seize a great deal of assets, according to experts interviewed by USA TODAY. "Prosecutors love this statute," said B. Michael Mears, an associate professor at Atlanta's John Marshall Law School and the former head of Georgia's public defender's office. "They do overuse it because it's so easy. It's a good vehicle for the government to go in and bring down the heads of organizations." As Combs awaits the jury's decision, here's a look at what racketeering is, what the attorneys in Combs' case say about it and how much time the rap mogul would face if he's convicted. Racketeering, explained Passed in 1970, the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act (RICO) took direct aim at organized crime. Instead of just bringing down low-level foot soldiers of a mafia organization, the new legislation allowed law enforcement to target the generals, Mears said. "You only have to show that someone associated with the head of the criminal organization commits the crime," he said. "The criminal liability goes from the lowest rung … to the head." The law allowed the government to take down members of the mob, like the Genovese family and John Gotti, head of the Gambino crime family. In the decades since, prosecutors have used the broad legislation against various criminal enterprises, including gangs like the Hells Angels and MS-13, corrupt officials including mayors, governors, judges, and sheriffs, white supremacists, hackers, and recording artists including R. Kelly. A criminal enterprise can be a loose association of people, it does not have to have a formal structure and it can engage in both legal and illegal activities. "It's a very broad thing," said John Floyd, a prominent Atlanta prosecutor who tries RICO cases and says that much of the public only thinks of mobsters when it comes to racketeering. "Most folks look at this and try to latch onto something that's familiar and that becomes the Godfather, that becomes Tony Soprano." "It covers those guys but it's not remotely limited to them," Floyd continued. "It goes beyond guys who have a bottle of Chianti on a checked tablecloth." Diddy's prosecutors, defense attorney on racketeering charge Using RICO law, prosecutors say that Combs used "employees, resources, and influence of the multi-faceted business empire that he led and controlled − creating a criminal enterprise" to commit crimes including sex trafficking, forced labor, kidnapping, bribery, and obstruction of justice, according to the indictment. The indictment says that Combs used his many businesses, including Bad Boy Records, as a criminal organization 'to fulfill his sexual desires, protect his reputation, and conceal his conduct," which included so-called "freak offs" − sometimes dayslong sex performances that federal prosecutors say were captured on video. Combs has pleaded not guilty to racketeering conspiracy, sex trafficking and transportation to engage in prostitution. "He's the general, not a foot soldier," prosecutor Maurene Comey told jurors, saying that Combs could not have engaged in the conduct he did without a great deal of help. Another prosecutor, Christy Slavik, told jurors there is no doubt that Combs was "the head of a criminal enterprise." "Remember, it's his kingdom," she said. "Everyone was there to serve him." Combs' team has slammed prosecutors for over-charging the rap mogul, saying all the sex involved in the case was consensual. 'The evidence is going to show you a very flawed individual, but it will not show you a racketeer, a sex trafficker, or somebody transporting for prostitution,' Combs' attorney, Teny Geragos, told jurors during opening statements in May. In his closing argument last week, defense attorney Marc Agnifilo said of the racketeering charge: "Are you kidding me?" What happens if Diddy is convicted? Combs stands to lose everything if he's convicted. A racketeering conviction alone carries a minimum prison sentence of 20 years and maximum of life behind bars. If convicted of racketeering, the government would also be able to seize all of Combs' assets, leaving him behind bars and powerless, Mears said. "RICO provides prosecutors with the opportunity to cut off the head of the snake," he said. "They're more concerned about the mob boss than the mobsters themselves." Contributing: USA TODAY staff Amanda Lee Myers is a senior crime reporter for USA TODAY. Follow her on X at @amandaleeusat.


USA Today
a day ago
- USA Today
Mentally ill, detained and alone. Trump budget cuts forces immigrants to fight in solitude
Mentally ill detainees facing deportation are by law afforded a fair hearing, but a national program to provide attorneys has been gutted. The message came over a jail video call between an attorney and her client locked away in immigration detention. In an echoey windowless room she said: "I'm sorry, I can't be your lawyer anymore." Sophie Woodruff had to tell him twice. Her client could hear the words she was saying, but he didn't understand them. Grevil Paz Cartagena is mentally ill and legally incompetent. He has been in detention for nearly 600 days. Woodruff was the only person the 31-year-old Honduran immigrant could talk to. That was aside from the voices in his head. She had promised not to abandon him, but the Trump administration quietly canceled a $12 million annual contract on April 25. Since 2013, it had paid private attorneys to represent detainees deemed mentally or cognitively incompetent and unable to represent themselves. Those attorneys filed a federal lawsuit in May challenging the abrupt change. In an April memo reviewed by USA TODAY, DOJ contractors crossed out any reference to 'nationwide' protections for detained noncitizens with serious mental disorders. By law, detainees with severe disabilities are still supposed to be given a fair hearing where they can present evidence and cross-examine witnesses. But now they're caught up in the administration's zest to ramp up removals under the auspices of saving taxpayers. That means 289 immigrants like Paz Cartagena facing removal around the country are suddenly adrift. Any newly detained immigrants deemed incompetent will not be afforded attorneys. In a legal twist, hundreds of other mentally incompetent detainees in three states − Arizona, California, and Washington − are still offered attorneys due to a previous court ruling. The rest are left to fend for themselves. 'So, are you still going to be there in court?' a still-confused Paz Cartagena asked Woodruff before hanging up the video call. Now formally withdrawn from the case, Woodruff says she's struggling to fully detach. 'Personally, it's devastating,' Woodruff said. 'I can't put this any clearer. If they deport him, he will die. And that's on my spirit.' Immigration attorneys told USA TODAY they face an impossible choice: continue working for free or cut ties with their most vulnerable clients they pledged to defend. Six attorneys enrolled in the program spoke about the sudden end to the funding. They facilitated interviews behind the detention center doors with detainees with a variety of mental health challenges. With the help of intermediaries and advocates, all but one of the detainees decided to remain anonymous for fear of impacting their cases. Only Paz Cartagena is identified by name. The Department of Justice, which administers the program, declined to answer questions about its past or future, citing pending litigation challenging the cut. National and local staff for the immigration court in Paz Cartagena's case said immigration judges are barred from speaking about it. Depression inside detention While in detention, Paz Cartagena's anxiety waxes and wanes. Sleepless nights torment him. If it's bad, he'll bang his head against the cinderblock wall until a concussion sets in. The pain numbs him. "The voices try to convince me to hurt myself,' he said in Spanish. He lies awake until the 9 a.m. morning headcount at his facility. He says he feels lost and only relies on the voice who talks to him. That was until Woodruff flew into town April 8. When his now-former attorney arrived from New Orleans to the Aurora, Colorado detention center to meet Paz Cartagena, 'he was really truly alone, and struggling.' The pair bonded over their mutual love of tattoos and reggaeton music. They listen to the same top artists: Wisin & Yandel, Daddy Yankee and of course, Bad Bunny. After an hour, the two hugged and parted. 'Thank you for coming. I trust you, and I can tell you're going to help,' Paz Cartagena told her. Woodruff helped him compile an asylum claim. Paz Cartagena identifies as bisexual. He said he was raped by a police officer back home before crossing into the United States. Going back to Honduras as a member of the LGBTQ community would mean ostracization, violence or death. The U.S. Department of State warns that the Honduran police and government there 'incite, perpetrate, condone or tolerate' such violence against LGBTQ individuals. His mother and siblings are back in Honduras. He has some relatives in the United States, but they are not in touch. In a recent phone interview with USA TODAY, Paz Cartagena spoke in circles, confused about the timeline of his life and what would happen next. 'Someone is here with me, in my head,' Paz Cartagena said. 'The voice writes and helps me write music.' Days later, in another interview, Paz Cartagena was lucid and understood his quandary. He recalled the run-in with local police in Colorado. He had been self-medicating with recreational drugs, and was confused when plainclothes officers approached him. That set off the cascade of events leading to his detention. Records show he has not been convicted of a crime in the United States. But immigration officials said he is in the country illegally and subject to deportation. Mental health and Djibouti The mental health of detainees often goes unnoticed throughout immigration proceedings. It's usually up to an immigration judge or attorney to raise concerns and order an evaluation. But given the rapid-fire deportation regime, those timelines can be compressed or sometimes nonexistent. That was the case for Nyo Myint, one of the eight men sent on a disputed flight to South Sudan that was recently upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court. Court records obtained by USA TODAY show instead of being housed in jail pending trial on sexual assault charges, Myint lived at the Lincoln Regional Center, a psychiatric hospital. Psychologists there evaluated him and ruled him mentally incompetent on four separate occasions until November 2019. He entered a no contest plea in 2020 and was sentenced to 12 years in prison. He served a fraction of his time before being paroled in 2023 and taken into ICE custody and eventually removed. 'I did not learn about his previous competency issues,' Jonathan Ryan, Myint's Texas immigration attorney, recently told USA TODAY. 'I wish I had.' DOJ defend actions in court While hundreds of detainees face uncertainty, the organizations that were representing them are suing in federal court to have their funding restored. DOJ attorneys, however, argue that that suit isn't about ending a program, but rather cutting a contract, which is within the scope of the government's rights. They have not signaled they will revamp the funding with other attorneys. Representatives from the Executive Office of Immigration Review cited the pending case and declined to answer questions about changes to the arrangement, known as the National Qualified Representative Program. Despite the alarm over an ethical bind, the DOJ points out that many attorneys in the program have said they'll continue offering their services after scrounging up other funding. That's the case for Yarima González Crespo, an attorney with the Pennsylvania Immigration Resource Center, who will continue aiding a 63-year-old with mental health challenges facing removal. 'I tried this alone,' the Mexican grandmother client said on a video interview from detention. 'It was very hard, and the judge told me I couldn't do this by myself.' The woman said she was a green card holder and lived in the country since 1979. Then a misdemeanor assault charge in 2020 upended her life. It wasn't until she landed on an ICE transfer flight in 2024 that she realized the gravity of the situation. 'I couldn't breathe, I was numb, petrified,' she said. 'I told them: 'No, I can't stay here, I've got my legal papers, I just got out of jail, I did my time.' I knew I would get sick again.' After eight months of detention, a judge recognized the woman's rapidly deteriorating mental state and assigned representation. Now on steady medication, the woman says she's busy sweeping and scrubbing the detention center for $10 a week. She uses it exclusively to call her family - $2.50 for a three-minute call, $4 for video. The grandmother of 10 has been keeping her cooking skills sharp in detention, making due with limited ingredients for tamales and birria tacos. Being the eldest detainee with her black-framed glasses and graying hair, she said others call her Mamá. 'You have to make them with love, it's not any special seasoning, it's love,' she said. Immigration judges question changes News of the changes to the attorney program trickled from the administration in a confusing mix of messages. No changes planned as of Jan. 24, then an email signaled a cut April 3, then a rapid reversal: disregard the cut. And finally, the official notice from EOIR Acting Director Sirce Owen: As of April 25, the funding was cut 'for convenience.' No other justification for the changes has been delivered. Paul Schmidt, former immigration judge and chair of the Board of Immigration Appeals, called it another battle in the 'administration's all-out war on due process.' 'It's disheartening when we took a system that was created to implement best practices and now we're back to the worst way to do this,' Schmidt said. Despite the administration's aim to streamline and accelerate immigration judgments, the funding cut could backfire, said Dana Leigh Marks, a retired immigration judge. 'It's a travesty,' Marks said. 'It's cutting off your nose to spite your face. These are difficult cases that immigration judges know move faster with a qualified representative.' Marks said judges will be left to wade through immigrant stories for relevant legal elements and the lack of attorneys will create more opportunities for error. That could in turn lead to more appeals and slower judgments. Another day in court For Paz Cartagena, the young Honduran facing removal, he's back on his own, writing songs and sketching art while he awaits his court date. His favorite song, "November Rain" by Guns N' Roses plays in his head while he battles his depression and suicidal ideation. Woodruff, his former attorney, still keeps in touch via phone despite officially withdrawing from the case. She worries his mental health has only worsened as he faces a judge who signaled Paz Cartagena should be able to represent himself. 'I don't know what to tell the judge,' he said. 'I don't know what I am supposed to do.' On June 30, he'll plead his case alone in front of Immigration Judge Elizabeth McGrail. It could be the confused, quiet Paz Cartagena speaking, or the sharp version he feels on good days. Nick Penzenstadler is a reporter on USA TODAY's investigative team working on national projects. Tips or questions? You can contact him via e-mail npenz@ or on Signal at 720-507-5273.