15 June 12th-June 18th, 2025 phoenixnewtimes.com PHOENIX NEW TIMES | NEWS | FEATURE | FOOD & DRINK | ARTS & CULTURE | MUSIC | CONCERTS | CANNABIS | FULL BAR! BILLS OF $50 OR MORE Dine-In or Take Out Not Including Combinations Dinner Only Expires 12/31/25 Closed On Tuesdays $5 OFF 2050 N. Alma School Rd., #36 • 480.857.4188 “You can tell what their inten- tions were, and that’s why he yelled the way he did,” she said. Skepticism of law enforcement is typical in Guadalupe. The Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office patrols the community, which was the focus of many unconstitu- tional immigration sweeps under former Sheriff Joe Arpaio. The sheriff’s office has been under court-ordered oversight since 2013, and by the end of the year will have spent more than $300 million bringing the agency into compliance with a federal judge’s orders, much of it spent working to clear a backlog of internal affairs complaints and to correct a pattern of racial profiling in traffic stops. “They haven’t just done it to him,” Renee said. “There’s a lot going on with these cops.” The Phoenix Police Department is a separate entity, of course, but is just as pock- marked. A recent study showed that Phoenix cops have killed 173 people since 2013, the second-highest death toll of any department in the country. Between 2008 and 2018, Phoenix approved $26 million in settlement money for police violence in 191 cases. In November 2023, the city paid $5.5 million to the family of Ali Osman, who was killed after throwing rocks at an officer during a mental health crisis in September 2022. Just weeks after Sergio was gunned down, the U.S. Department of Justice released a 126-page report that found that Phoenix police regularly committed a litany of civil rights violations, including discrimi- nating against people of color and using excessive and unnecessary deadly force. Notably, given how police responded after shooting Sergio, the DOJ also found that officers “unreasonably delay rendering aid to people they have shot, and at times use significant, unreasonable force against people who are already incapacitated, sometimes even unconscious, as the result of police gunfire.” While questions remain about the justifi- cation for shooting Sergio, what’s clear is that his family has felt left in the dark after his death. Destiny said the Alvarez family paid more than $2,500 — a substantial sum for the family — to get public records and video footage related to his killing. Most of it still has not been released to them, they say. Destiny said the family finally got Sergio’s phone from police in the spring, which they believe their father might have used to record after walking away from officers. But Destiny said the phone was wiped of most of its content when they received it. It had no pictures and no history of messages. Officer Wesley Thompson, one of the cops who responded to the shooting scene, noted in the incident report that he kept the phone charging so police could have the option of extracting its contents as evidence. The statute of limitations for a wrongful death suit in Arizona is two years, so the Alvarez family still has time to find answers and pursue a case. But while other victims of police violence have mounted successful civil claims against the city, that appears to be a dead end for the Alvarezes. Destiny said several attorneys — including Bob McWhirter, who has represented many clients and families in police misconduct lawsuits — have turned down their case because police alleged Alvarez shot first. Reached by phone, McWhirter confirmed that he declined to take the Alvarez family’s case after viewing news reports that recounted the police narrative that Alvarez shot Estrella. “I can tell you that I did a preliminary review of the case and decided not to take it,” McWhirter said. Without someone to shepherd them through the process — where to get infor- mation, how to apply pressure to those who have it — the Alvarez family feels stuck. Every day is tainted by Sergio’s absence. Destiny still speaks to him “as if he were still here.” Sergio was always playing music, and Isla has noticed how silent the house is without him. “Every time my dad would smile, it would light up the room,” she said. “When he passed, it felt so much quieter.” Sergio’s death has probably been hardest on his mother. She’s the “mayor” of the neighborhood, as her neighbor describes her, a woman who worked at a community nonprofit for 16 years. She helped elderly people clean their homes and held back-to- school drives. She assisted people with traffic tickets, kept the local cemetery tidy and cared for street dogs. But that cool February day at her home, just a few days before what would have been Sergio’s 49th birthday, Maria looked gut-punched. As she gazed on each picture of her son adorning the poster boards in front of the house, her face vacillated between heartbreak and joy. “Oh my god, mijo,” she mumbled, a crackle of despera- tion in her voice. Holding one of her great-granddaugh- ters, tears filled her eyes as she recounted one last memory. “He’d come in the morning and I could hear his music,” Maria said. “He’d find me and give me a big kiss and pick me up, ask me, ‘Mom, what do you want? Let me go buy you a burrito.’ And he’d be off.” Maria Alvarez sobs with a great-grandchild in her arms while remembering her son, Sergio, at her house on Feb. 8, 2025. (TJ L’Heureux) Stopped on a Bike from p 13
