Latest news with #SamNordquist
Daily Mail
22-05-2025
- Daily Mail
Gentle, lonely man met worst possible woman online...and nightmarish horror ensued when he flew to meet her
A lonely Minnesota man who thought he had met his soulmate online ended up being allegedly tortured and killed by the woman who he thought loved him. Sam Nordquist was lured from his St Paul home to upstate New York by Precious Arzuaga who promised to create a new life together, prosecutors have claimed. But his fairytale quickly became a nightmare which resulted in the 24-year-old being found dead on February 12. 'Sam was almost desperate for love,' Ashlee Youngs told the New York Times. His family and friends told the outlet this desperation ultimately led to his tragic end. Arzuaga is accused of orchestrating weeks of brutal torture. She and six other defendants have been charged with first degree murder over Norquist's death. The severity of the sentence is unusual for the state and will require prosecutors to prove that the gang tortured Norquidst, 'because they enjoyed it'. Those who know Arzuaga told the New York Times this is not hard to envisage and they described a history of manipulation. Nordquist meanwhile came from a loving family, but struggled to find acceptance for his black, transgender identity in his home town. He found refuge in creating TikToks and sharing them with an online community where he was beloved. Nordquist connected with Arzuaga online, fresh from a break up which he had also documented online. She arrived on the scene and portrayed herself as a fun, loving mother to her kids. But in reality, her slick TikToks hid a violent criminal past and a litany of offences ranging from animal cruelty to harassment. Nordquist was unaware of her chaotic background when he set off to visit her for a month in September 2023 at a hotel catering for homeless people called Patty's Lodge. The first red flag came when he failed to return home on a flight booked for October. His frantic family called the emergency services, but when officers visited Nordquist and Arzuaga he assured them everything was fine. But over the following months, Nordquist's online omnipresence began to dwindle and soon he was not only not posting videos, but actively ignoring and blocking friends who reached out. One cancer-stricken friend told the New York Times how they reached out with news of their prognosis, expecting Nordquist to call her but instead received a curt reply. 'Him going offline, that was a clue that something might be wrong, because no person would keep him from being online,' Corin Kichler, a friend from Norqduist's home said. In the months since living with Arzuaga, Nordquist had also turned his back on his passionate work with a group home in Minnesota. Further alarm bells began to sound when Nordquist stopped replying to his sister who was providing updates on his beloved niece and nephew. The family sent state troopers around one more time who made a chilling discovery. Staff at Patty's Lodge told officers they had never seen Nordquist. His panicked family piled into a car and drove across the country desperate for answers, but arrived too late. During a stopover in Ohio, they received the devastating news that Nordquist's body had been found in a dairy farmer's field. A disturbing narrative has since emerged about Nordquist's final days, with prosecutors alleging he was locked up and tortured in for more than a month. This included forcing Nordquist to drink urine and eat feces, according to investigators. 'Sam was confined. He was forced to kneel and stand against a wall. He was physically assaulted. He was sexually assaulted,' Assistant District Attorney Kelly Wolford said 'He was prevented from using his phone. He was denied proper nutrition and hydration. He was fed feces. He was forced to drink urine and chew spit.' She went on to detail how Nordquist was 'physically restrained, forced to obey their commands and treated like a dog.' 'They covered his face with towels and shirts and fabric. They used duct tape and they poured bleach on him.' Eventually he died as a result of the torture, according to investigators. In another sick twist, prosecutors have also revealed they believe two children aged seven and 12-years-old were forced to help carry out the sick abuse. The seven defendants are Precious Arzuaga, 38; Kyle Sage, 33; Jennifer Quijano, 30; Patrick Goodwin, 30; Kimberly Sochia, 29; Thomas G. Eaves, 21; and Emily Motyka, 19. Arzuaga has also been charged with first-degree coercion for forcing the children to participate in the heinous acts. The relationship between Arzuaga and the children was not made clear. She and the other defendants have all pleaded not guilty. Nordquist has since been mourned by those who knew him personally and the many people he reached through his online community. 'Sam wanted to be — not in this way, of course — but Sam always wanted to be famous,' his sister told The New York Time. 'And now he is.'
New York Times
22-05-2025
- New York Times
Life on TikTok Gave Him the Illusion of Love and a Sad, Brutal End
The world Sam Nordquist inhabited through his phone screen was where he felt most at ease. It was where he found acceptance, established some of his deepest connections, met some of his closest friends. The amount of time he spent socializing with apparent strangers online puzzled his friends and family, who knew him as an extrovert, a jokester, a charmer. But it was not entirely surprising. He had dreams of fame, which he hoped to realize by uploading videos and livestreaming his everyday life, sometimes for hours at a time. And for a young, Black transgender man living in the suburbs of Minneapolis with his mother and older brother, social media represented a landscape of endless possibility in his search for belonging, unbound by geography and often free of baggage or judgment. Last September, he traveled to upstate New York to meet a woman he had begun talking to online over the summer. He considered her his girlfriend, even though they had yet to be in the same room. The trip was meant to last two weeks. Five months later he was dead, his body discarded in the brush of a secluded farm roughly 15 miles from the roadside motel where she lived with her two young children. Mr. Nordquist was 24 years old. The woman, Precious Arzuaga, and six other people have been charged with first-degree murder — an extraordinarily severe charge, stemming from allegations that they tortured Mr. Nordquist for weeks before he died. Prosecutors say the children, a 12-year-old girl and a 7-year-old boy, were made to participate in the torture. Ms. Arzuaga pleaded not guilty, as did the other six people accused. Ms. Arzuaga's lawyer, William Swift, said he was 'pursuing all legal avenues on her behalf.' A trial date has not been set. Without a full suite of facts or anything resembling closure, Mr. Nordquist's family has been plagued by grief, anger, endless conjecture and an agonizing series of questions. 'It just doesn't make any sense to me,' said his older sister, Kayla. 'I don't understand how they just decided they were going to. …' She trailed off. The details of the case, however sparse, were too devastating to utter aloud. Online, though, Mr. Nordquist's life and the circumstances of his death have united a devoted community that wants to talk about almost nothing else. People he never knew congregate on Facebook to organize memorials, lament the dangers facing transgender people and indulge their fascination with true crime by trading notes about the case. Mr. Nordquist's family has joined in to grieve, to vent, to find solace and to seek answers. Beyond the sorrow and the voyeurism, Mr. Nordquist's death holds lessons about the often inscrutable digital universe where modern lives are increasingly lived — and provides tragic evidence of the risks of social media and the 21st-century scourge of loneliness. To those he left behind, there is a brutal irony in Mr. Nordquist's vibrant digital afterlife. 'Sam wanted to be — not in this way, of course — but Sam always wanted to be famous,' his sister said. 'And now he is.' A TikTok Love Story Like many of his generation, Mr. Nordquist treated social media like a public diary, sharing musings, insecurities and aspirations without hesitation. In one TikTok video, he rapped about coming to terms with his gender identity. 'Since I was in the third grade, I've known that I was gay, but I thought I'd never be accepted, so I always tried to change,' he rhymed, before striking a defiant tone: 'I will never back down, and I will never feel ashamed.' Mr. Nordquist, who was assigned female at birth, came out as a lesbian around age 13 or 14, according to his sister, and dated girls as an adolescent. He had been struggling academically and socially, and in ninth grade he transferred to a charter school in St. Paul for students seeking an alternative learning environment. It seemed to set him on a path of self-realization for the rest of his brief life. In high school, he volunteered at soup kitchens and shelters. He dressed as an elf at a school holiday party. Darius Husain, the director of the school, Face to Face Academy, described him as a 'border dweller,' someone who moved charismatically among social groups, with a particular sensitivity for people who were marginalized for being different. Mr. Nordquist graduated in 2020, the same year he came out as transgender. (In 2023, he started hormone therapy and underwent a mastectomy.) He began working in a group home, where his co-worker and friend Ashlee Youngs described him as a stubborn advocate for the residents. She recalled an argument about how to make instant macaroni and cheese in which Mr. Nordquist insisted, with growing fervor, that they add milk instead of settling for the basic recipe. 'But the clients like the milk!' she recalled him saying as he finally stormed out of the building. Ms. Youngs and others also said that he always had his phone out — early in the morning, at work, at night in bed. If he was not recording videos or livestreaming, he was video chatting with friends, sometimes while scrolling through social media on another device. On apps like LiveMe and TikTok he met people who became some of his closest friends. Some lived hundreds of miles away. Many of them he had never seen in person. Inevitably, his social media feeds traced the roller coaster of his romantic life. Last August, there was heartbreak: Mr. Nordquist posted on TikTok a photograph of a woman's name tattooed on his arm, juxtaposed with another image that indicated he had gotten the tattoo removed. He included the hashtags #single and #trustnobody. Friends and family said that he had fallen for a woman he met online who lived in Florida and that he had driven from Minnesota to meet her. Soon, they said, he realized that the woman's situation was not what she had projected online, resulting in a messy breakup. He posted a video of himself lip-syncing to a song called 'I'm Single and I'm Lit.' Those who knew Mr. Nordquist agreed on one thing above all: For all his sociability, he was deeply lonely and seeking something more in life. In the words of Ms. Youngs, 'Sam was almost desperate for love.' It was in the wake of that breakup that he started communicating with Ms. Arzuaga. She was a 38-year-old mother living on the edge of Canandaigua, a small city in the Finger Lakes region of New York known for its lakefront wineries and pockets of poverty. She had reached out to him on TikTok, according to his friends. His family members noticed the brisk turnaround. The couple posted videos lip-syncing to the same songs on TikTok. They had marathon sessions on the phone. 'They would even FaceTime and fall asleep on the phone together,' Ms. Youngs said. Throughout the rest of the summer, Mr. Nordquist posted one jubilant video after another, almost all of them featuring the same hashtag: #taken. In September, he posted another lip-syncing music video, overlaid with the text '6 days until New York.' 'A Straight Mess' While Mr. Nordquist was trying to project his authentic self online, Ms. Arzuaga was doing the opposite, according to people close to her and in her sphere for decades. Her posts on social media portrayed a playful, doting mother who exuded confidence, sex appeal and fortitude. 'I LOVE MY BABIES I'M BLESSED THANK YOU LORD FOR MY BLESSINGS,' she posted once on Facebook. In reality, she was a homeless drifter with a violent and chaotic past. In Geneva, N.Y., another city in the area, she is named in nearly 200 police reports for incidents including harassment, domestic disturbances, theft and threats of violence. Public records show she was jailed at least eight times. Her past lovers — men and women — invariably described her as manipulative and abusive. One was Desiree Tucker, 32, who tagged along last year as Ms. Arzuaga she crisscrossed the country with her two young children in rented moving vans, living for stretches in Colorado, Florida, North Carolina and Pennsylvania. 'On social media, Precious claimed to be powerful, loving and caring, clean, a sweetheart, trustworthy and loyal,' Ms. Tucker said. 'Real-life Precious was manipulative, not loyal at all, and her life was a straight mess.' By the time Mr. Nordquist encountered Ms. Arzuaga online, she and her children had returned to the Finger Lakes, settling into Patty's Lodge, an assemblage of timeworn buildings on a two-lane highway outside Canandaigua. The lodge was built in 1960, when roadside motels were booming. But it was forsaken over the decades by vineyard tourists and is now one of eight motels used by Ontario County to shelter people receiving housing assistance. Rooms are rented by the week, and police logs show officers are regularly summoned. 'These are all homeless people,' said Manny Patel, who operates the motel. 'This is a shelter.' Mr. Nordquist arrived on Sept. 28 to be with Ms. Arzuaga. She let him down from the moment his plane landed in Rochester, the nearest airport. Melissa Light, a friend of Mr. Nordquist's, said he called her to explain that Ms. Arzuaga hadn't come to meet him. He would need to hail an Uber — and sneak one last cigarette. 'He told me Precious was not going to allow him to smoke,' Ms. Light said. Still, the trip seemed to get off to a happy start. In subsequent days, Mr. Nordquist posted video after video to TikTok celebrating his relationship. He called his family and friends and told them things were going well. He did not get on his return flight home, scheduled for Oct. 12. Confused, his mother, Linda, called the police the next day to check in on him. When officers arrived at Patty's Lodge, Mr. Nordquist told them he was fine, said Mark Eifert, a senior investigator with the State Police. And it seemed so. Over the next three days, Mr. Nordquist posted at least 19 TikTok videos, most of them showing him and Ms. Arzuaga kissing, cuddling and dancing together. One featured the couple with Ms. Arzuaga's two children under the text 'The New Nordquist-Arzuaga Family 2024.' The TikTok uploads continued apace until Nov. 15. Then the posts from Mr. Nordquist, who for years had shared his life on social media with an almost compulsive cadence, abruptly came to an end. An Alarming Silence Mr. Nordquist's communication with his family members and friends became curt and infrequent after that. More puzzling, they began finding themselves blocked from his accounts on various social media and chat apps. Ms. Light was among those blocked. She had been battling cancer and was accustomed to talking to him about it on the phone for hours. They had never met in person — they became friends online in 2020 — but had plans to get together soon. On Dec. 12, she texted Mr. Nordquist: 'I don't know why you haven't called or texted. I don't know why you blocked me on TikTok. Whatever I did to you I apologize for. I hope you're doing well. I wish you the best in life my friend. Take care and know I'm still here and your friend.' There was no response. Later that day, she was blocked from his Facebook account. A month later she tried on Snapchat. She told him she had suffered a major setback in her cancer recovery. She expected a concerned phone call; instead, she received an impersonal reply: 'I'm so sorry to hear that. I will pray for you. Keep me posted.' Those who knew Mr. Nordquist in Minnesota found his behavior increasingly difficult to rationalize. He had effectively abandoned his job at the group home, work he had seemed to relish, with co-workers and clients he had treated as friends. It was not until later that they realized his phone activity was most likely being controlled by Ms. Arzuaga. 'Him going offline, that was a clue that something might be wrong, because no person would keep him from being online,' said Corin Kichler, a friend from Minnesota, who was also blocked for seemingly no reason. Throughout this period, Mr. Nordquist's sister and mother struggled with how much to intervene, reasoning that he was an adult making his own choices. But they missed him. On Feb. 7, Kayla Nordquist sent him a text message with a picture of her three young children. She and Sam had gotten into an argument before the holidays, and it had been weeks since they had spoken. She assumed they were mired in some kind of emotional standoff. But she knew he loved her children. 'I just thought you'd want to see how big they're getting,' she wrote. There was no response. The silence — and before that, coldness — felt wrong. The brother she knew liked to gossip and make people laugh. He was looking forward to this summer's Pride celebrations, which he would finally feel comfortable attending shirtless. So, after getting no response to the picture of her children, Kayla Nordquist texted her brother again. 'Well, I hope you're doing OK and safe,' she wrote. 'I love and I miss you.' There was no reply. Only later would she learn the truth. 'By the time I sent those text messages,' she said, 'he was already gone.' On Feb. 9, Mr. Nordquist's family, increasingly worried about his silence, asked the New York State Police to check in again at Patty's Lodge. Kayla Nordquist said the police told her that they had encountered a man at the door of Room 22 who made an alarming claim. 'He said Sam's never been there,' she recalled. 'He said he didn't even know who the officer was talking about.' Troopers eventually opened a missing persons investigation. The family had already begun spreading the word on social media. Desperate, Mr. Nordquist's mother, sister and older brother, Mason, piled in a car and headed to New York, stopping on Feb. 13 at a motel in Ohio. At 10:38 p.m. that night, they received a call from a police officer. A body had been found in the field of a dairy farmer. The authorities believed it was Sam. Room 22 In March, the authorities outlined the details of Mr. Nordquist's death in an indictment that read like a horror story. Beginning on Jan. 1, prosecutors said, Mr. Nordquist was physically restrained in Room 22 of Patty's Lodge. He was hit, kicked and punched; forced to stand or kneel facing a wall; sexually assaulted; deprived of food and water; forced to consume feces, urine and saliva; bound with duct tape and doused with bleach. The torture didn't cease, they said, until Feb. 2, the date they believe he was killed. To prove the first-degree murder charges, which are rare in New York, Kelly Wolford, an assistant district attorney in Ontario County, said her office would need to show 'that all seven defendants tortured Sam Nordquist, and that they did so because they enjoyed it.' Often, when people are accused of unspeakable crimes, their friends or neighbors express shock that they could be capable of such things. But many who knew Ms. Arzuaga intimately were not surprised to hear the allegations. 'I know how she is,' said Carlos Ortiz-Rivera, the father of Ms. Arzuaga's 7-year-old son, who was alleged to have been forced to torture Mr. Nordquist. Mr. Ortiz-Rivera said he met Ms. Arzuaga eight years ago when county social services placed him in a hotel she frequented. A recovering drug addict, he was so taken by her appearance and the affection she showed that he moved into a trailer with her. But, he said, he soon discovered that she was prone to violent fits brought on by jealousy and paranoia. He pointed to a small scar on the palm of his left hand that he said he got when she stabbed him with a decorative sword. 'She'll talk good to you until she gets you,' said Mr. Ortiz-Rivera, 46. 'And then she turns.' Margaret Copp, 37, who has known Ms. Arzuaga since they were teenagers and was romantically involved with her as a young adult, said the same. 'The first time I was asked if she was capable of doing that, I immediately said, 'Yes,'' Ms. Copp said. 'And, of course, it would not be by herself, because she's not going down alone. That was always a saying of hers, 'If I go down, I'm not going down alone.'' Among the six others accused alongside Ms. Arzuaga is her 21-year-old son, Thomas Eaves, who was raised by his mother and grandmother in Geneva. It was by all accounts a tumultuous childhood. Ms. Arzuaga served five stints in jail before Thomas turned 7; when he was 12, she was charged with animal neglect for locking their pit bull, Princess, in a shed without food or water. By the time he was 18, Mr. Eaves had been jailed for beating and robbing a 16-year-old autistic boy. Larry Kasperek, a criminal defense lawyer whom Ontario County assigned to handle Mr. Eaves's case, called the allegations against his client 'horrible.' But he questioned the prosecution's assertion that the alleged torture lasted a month. 'I don't know how anyone could cooperate with that kind of behavior over the course of an entire month,' he added. 'I don't know everything that the government possesses regarding these circumstances, but the materials I have do not make out these kinds of allegations against my client.' Also arrested was Patrick Goodwin, 30, who had recently moved in at Patty's Lodge after serving eight years for engaging in criminal sexual acts with two minors. He was registered as a Level 3 sex offender, which the state considers to be 'a high risk of repeat offense and a threat to public safety.' According to the police, Mr. Goodwin introduced Ms. Arzuaga to his girlfriend, Kimberly Sochia, 29, and Kyle R. Sage, 33, who had spent time in prison for grand larceny and disseminating indecent materials to minors. Both have been charged as participating in the torture and killing of Mr. Nordquist. The remaining defendants, Jennifer Quijano, 30, who was identified in the indictment as 'Brooklyn,' and Emily J. Motyka, 19, had personal connections to Ms. Arzuaga. The police said Ms. Quijano was an on-again, off-again romantic partner of Ms. Arzuaga's. Ms. Motyka, a recent graduate of Honeoye Falls-Lima High School, was working as a highway maintenance worker and living at Patty's Lodge with Ms. Arzuaga after having been introduced to her by a mutual friend, according to the police. Clark J. Zimmermann, a lawyer for Ms. Motyka, cast her as a 'minor participant' and argued that the language of the first-degree murder charge, which requires the defendant to have 'relished the infliction of extreme physical pain,' did not apply to her. To the puzzlement of some, prosecutors did not charge Mr. Nordquist's murder as a hate crime. In response, Ms. Wolford said the acts were 'bigger than a hate crime.' An Afterlife Online Mr. Nordquist was buried on March 3 near his home in Minnesota. Kayla Nordquist has tried to keep herself together, for her children. But she has felt emotionally crippled by the aftershocks of her brother's death and the questions around it. 'I have my breakdowns at night,' she said. She has leaned on social media to find community, comfort and an outlet for some of her rawest emotions, her daily stream of posts serving as a public diary of a grieving sister. The community formed immediately after Mr. Nordquist's missing person notice appeared. Strangers reached out offering to help with the search, with fund-raising, with general emotional support. Many quickly developed close ties to the family. The nexus of these interactions has been a private Facebook group, Justice for Sam Nordquist. It has 1,400 members, many of whom never met Mr. Nordquist. They upload artwork inspired by him. They organize conference calls to discuss his life. They plan vigils. They promote a fund-raising page that has raised almost $200,000 to help the family. The murder has also attracted the attention of true crime content creators, and the family has eagerly exchanged information with at least one of them, hoping the amateur investigations could lead to more answers beyond the basic, jarring facts of the case. Almost every day, Kayla Nordquist has participated in this cacophony of posts, wearing her emotions on her sleeve, sometimes speaking directly to her brother. 'I wish you knew the people I have met ❤️,' she posted recently on Facebook. 'I know you would like all of them, they have been so helpful, supportive and loving throughout this tragedy!' In other ways, the internet has been a source of tension for her. Transgender activism was one of the driving forces behind the outpouring of support. But the group recently debated whether it was appropriate for members to suggest, as some had, that Mr. Nordquist had 'made a sacrifice' for the transgender community. Similar disagreements have arisen over misapplied pronouns, a user who kept reacting to posts with a laughing emoji, a fake fund-raising page and a podcast that made light of the tragedy. 'May God help me before I lose myself in hate,' Kayla Nordquist wrote one day. This month, the family responded to a post questioning the public nature of their mourning. 'We are a grieving family who posts about Sam several times a day,' Linda Nordquist posted, 'and if you don't like it or want to see it gladly remove yourself.' A few days later Kayla Nordquist reposted a quote, without any additional commentary: 'People vent to social media because they aren't heard in person. Keep that in mind.' And social media, in turn, has set her along a familiar path of comfort and despair, connection and frustration. 'Sometimes it does get to be too much,' Ms. Nordquist said in an interview. 'The other day I just laid in bed. It all just, like, hit me, and I couldn't be on the internet all day.' She paused. 'At the same time, I can't stay off the internet, and I have to know,' she said. 'I need to find out.'
Yahoo
10-05-2025
- Yahoo
Sam Nordquist to be honored at Stonewall Inn in June
ROCHESTER, N.Y. (WROC) — Sam Nordquist, a Black trans man that was tortured for nearly three months before found being found dead in Hopewell earlier this year is set to be inducted into the 'Wall of Honor' at the Stonewall Inn in New York City. Communications Director for the National LGBTQ Task Force Cathy Renna said this year's focus on transgender trailblazers and changemakers shows the current climate for transgender individuals. 'As we continue to fiercely battle against attacks on our trans and nonbinary communities, we are honored to uplift their legacies. Their courage inspires our ongoing fight for liberation, both within the Task Force family and across every queer advocacy organization,' Renna said in a news release. Nordquist traveled from Minnesota to New York but was subjected to violence and torture before he was killed. His body was then taken to a field in Yates County. This all happened between December 2024 and February 2025. Seven people have been charged with murder. Seven individuals will be inducted into the National LGBTQ Wall of Honor at Stonewall Inn on June 26 — in celebration of Pride Month. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
NBC News
15-03-2025
- NBC News
Law enforcement was called 8 times to the hotel where Sam Nordquist was held captive and killed, records show
Law enforcement officers were called to the hotel where authorities say Sam Nordquist was tortured to death at least eight times throughout his captivity, sheriff's office call records obtained by NBC News show. Deputies from the Ontario County Sheriff's Office went to Patty's Lodge in Canandaigua, New York, in January to perform two welfare checks at the hotel, respond to three instances of 'family trouble,' address a 'neighbor dispute,' complete a probation check and issue a warrant for an unnamed individual's arrest, according to the call records. However, none of those calls specifically referenced Room 22, where Nordquist, 24, was allegedly held captive from Jan. 1 to Feb. 2., Ontario County Sheriff David J. Cirencione told NBC News shortly after this story was published. Nordquist was beaten, sexually assaulted and starved by seven people in Room 22 before he died from his injuries, prosecutors said last week. The call records do not indicate which rooms authorities visited, and it's unclear whether anyone heard anything. But anyone on the property would be within several dozen feet of Room 22; the hotel is on a small lot of land with about two dozen rooms grouped by four one-story buildings. Patty's Lodge could not immediately be reached for comment. In recent weeks, the gruesome killing of the 24-year-old transgender Black man has garnered national attention and prompted outrage from LGBTQ advocates across the country. Prosecutors have said there appears to be no indication that witnesses heard any of the abuse in Room 22, though it went on for weeks and involved multiple people. No one reported any suspicious activity at the hotel, officials said. The Ontario County District Attorney's Office did not immediately return a request for comment regarding the call logs. Nordquist's family, who live in Oakdale, Minnesota, requested a wellness check to Room 22 while Nordquist was still alive in October. New York State Police Troop E confirmed that they completed the wellness check, adding that 'Sam told the Trooper he was fine and did not need any medical or law enforcement help.' The family again requested a welfare check to Patty's Lodge on Feb. 9 and reported him missing to their local Oakdale police on Feb. 10, the family said. His body was found three days later in a field not far from Patty's Lodge, wrapped in plastic bags, prosecutors said last week. Prosecutors detailed last week that seven people — including Nordquist's girlfriend — are accused of kicking, punching, starving and sexually assaulting him, and forcing him to consume feces, urine and tobacco juice. Two young children were also coerced to join in, according to the indictment. The seven were arrested and charged with first-degree murder and face life in prison without parole if convicted. On Tuesday, they all pleaded not guilty to the charges.
NBC News
14-03-2025
- NBC News
Police were called 8 times to the hotel where Sam Nordquist was held captive and killed, records show
Law enforcement officers were called to the hotel where authorities say Sam Nordquist was tortured to death at least eight times throughout his captivity, sheriff's office call records obtained by NBC News show. Deputies from the Ontario County Sheriff's Office went to Patty's Lodge in Canandaigua, New York, in January to perform two welfare checks at the hotel, respond to three instances of 'family trouble,' address a 'neighbor dispute,' complete a probation check and issue a warrant for an unnamed individual's arrest, according to the call records. It's not clear if the authorities were ever directed to Room 22, where they say Nordquist, 24, was held captive from Jan. 1 to Feb. 2. There, he was beaten, sexually assaulted and starved by seven people before he died from his injuries, prosecutors said last week. The call records do not indicate which rooms authorities visited, and it's unclear whether anyone heard anything. But anyone on the property would be within several dozen feet of Room 22; the hotel is on a small lot of land with about two dozen rooms grouped by four one-story buildings. The Ontario County Sheriff's Office declined to comment and referred NBC News to its public records office. Patty's Lodge could not immediately be reached for comment. In recent weeks, the gruesome killing of the 24-year-old transgender Black man has garnered national attention and prompted outrage from LGBTQ advocates across the country. Prosecutors have said there appears to be no indication that witnesses heard any of the abuse in Room 22, though it went on for weeks and involved multiple people. No one reported any suspicious activity at the hotel, officials said. The Ontario County District Attorney's Office did not immediately return a request for comment regarding the call logs. Nordquist's family, who live in Oakdale, Minnesota, requested a wellness check to Room 22 while Nordquist was still alive in October. New York State Police Troop E confirmed that they completed the wellness check, adding that 'Sam told the Trooper he was fine and did not need any medical or law enforcement help.' The family again requested a welfare check to Patty's Lodge on Feb. 9 and reported him missing to their local Oakdale police on Feb. 10, the family said. His body was found three days later in a field not far from Patty's Lodge, wrapped in plastic bags, prosecutors said last week. Prosecutors detailed last week that seven people — including Nordquist's girlfriend — are accused of kicking, punching, starving and sexually assaulting him, and forcing him to consume feces, urine and tobacco juice. Two young children were also coerced to join in, according to the indictment. The seven were arrested and charged with first-degree murder and face life in prison without parole if convicted. On Tuesday, they all pleaded not guilty to the charges.
