CANANDAIgUA, N.Y. — Sam Nordquist left home in Minnesota last fall and traveled 1,000 miles to be with a woman he’d fallen in love with online.
He ended up imprisoned in a cut-rate hotel in upstate New York, suffering unspeakable horrors before he was killed.
A gang of seven people — including the woman for whom he’d trekked across the country — have been charged with murder, accused of torturing and humiliating the 24-year-old transgender Black man in the hotel room for weeks before eventually killing him. The only people who called police were Nordquist’s mother and sister back home, who pleaded for authorities to check in on him when he stopped responding to their messages. But Nordquist’s body had already been dumped, wrapped in plastic bags, in an empty field.
Even though arrests have been made, first-degree murder charges have been filed and the victim laid to rest, this case remains an incomprehensible display of human malice. Online posts told a story of a happy couple, but Nordquist’s friends and family were increasingly concerned when he didn’t return their messages.
His mother feared he was being controlled — and has accused authorities of ignoring warning signs and failing to protect her child. And LgBTQ activists have said the case is a dark reminder of the risks marginalized people face in America, particularly today.
The seven suspects are all being held without bail. NBC News tried to reach their family and friends, but those who returned calls or answered doors declined to comment. The Ontario County Conflict Defender’s Office, which is representing the defendants, declined to comment. None of the seven has yet entered a plea.
“We’ll never know the answer why, because what human being could do what happened to Sam?” Ontario County Assistant District Attorney Kelly Wolford said this week. “We’ll never make sense of this case.”
‘She love-bombed him’
Sam Nordquist fell for a woman named Precious Arzuaga last August. They met online and ended up talking for hours on the phone, day and night, seven days a week, said his mother, Linda Nordquist. Sam seemed smitten, exhilarated for romance with a woman who flooded him with affection.
“Sam was vulnerable. He looked like he was 15, young,” Linda Nordquist told NBC News. “She love-bombed him.”
Arzuaga lived outside Canandaigua, in New York’s Finger Lakes region. She was 38, with several children, some young, others adults — it’s not clear how many she had. If Sam knew that, he didn’t seem to mind. He began planning a trip to see her in mid-September and expected to stay a week.
“He wanted to find love and he wanted to be loved. No one can blame him for that. Anyone would want that,” a friend, Jaxon Seeger, recalled. “He was excited for the trip and the adventure.”
Seeger, who lives in Madison, Wisconsin, had befriended Sam after meeting him in an internet support group for transgender people years earlier. Seeger watched videos Sam posted on TikTok with Arzuaga and thought it all looked normal. Still, Seeger knew it was risky for a transgender man in a new place among unfamiliar people.
At first, things appeared to be going well. Sam sent his mom photographs of the couple together, both smiling, she said. But on Oct. 12, the day he was expected to return home, he did not show up. Linda said he did not answer texts and phone calls from the family.
Sam had told Linda that he was staying in Room 22 at Patty’s Lodge, a roadside hotel on the outskirts of Canandaigua, surrounded by farmland. The collection of single-story pale, brown buildings with mismatched curtains stands in contrast to the vibrantly colored Victorian homes that line the city’s Main Street and the mansions, yacht clubs and lavish hotels that border nearby Canandaigua Lake, the city’s glistening namesake.
Patty’s Lodge is not a tourist haunt. It is a destination of last resort. Some rooms are rented for weeks at a time by people on the verge of homelessness or facing other emergencies; in some instances their stays are paid for using vouchers provided by the Ontario County Department of Social Services. Others are registered sex offenders, according to records published by the Ontario County Sheriff’s Office.
It is unclear how Sam and Arzuaga ended up at Patty’s Lodge and if anyone else was staying with them.
On Oct. 13, Linda said she contacted the New York State Police and requested a wellness check at Room 22. Not long after, she said, Sam and Arzuaga called and assured her that everything was fine. Sam told Linda that he wanted to stay indefinitely to pursue his new relationship and to help Arzuaga support her kids, she said.
The state police reached Sam at Patty’s Lodge that same day.
“At that time, Sam told the trooper he was fine and did not need any medical or law enforcement help,” State Police spokesperson Trooper Lynnea Crane said in an email.
But based on the conversations Linda had with police after the wellness check, she believes law enforcement was misled and didn’t do a thorough enough job looking for signs of distress. She says law enforcement downplayed their ongoing concerns.
“They said that they talked to Sam and everything appeared to be fine, that everything was good. Well, that’s because that Precious was right there,” Linda said. “I think Sam was scared and intimidated, and that they should have separated them and they didn’t.”
Although the family was suspicious of their relationship, Sam and Arzuaga appeared online like a happy couple. Of the more than two dozen videos Sam posted on TikTok between September and November, most of the clips show the pair dancing together and embracing each other affectionately. Sam described Arzuaga as his “ride or die,” “soul” and “family” throughout several of the posts.
Desiree Tucker, 32, used to make TikToks with Arzuaga, too, when the two dated on and off from 2022 to 2024, she said. But when the cameras were off, things weren’t so great between them. If she declined to do the videos, she risked a beating from Arzuaga, Tucker said in an interview.
“Everyone’s like: ‘Oh, you look so happy in your TikToks,’” Tucker said. “Yeah, I know I did. And I did exactly what she wanted me to do. Because I knew if I didn’t, it wouldn’t be good for me.”
On Feb. 18, Tucker’s local police department in Toronto, Ohio, showed up at her house asking about Arzuaga on behalf of New York State Police, she said. She said she told them Arzuaga physically abused her throughout their relationship. She also said Arzuaga refused her access to her phone and social media, and wouldn’t allow her to contact her family at times. Arzuaga is in jail and could not be reached for comment; Toronto police didn’t respond to a request for comment.
Sam’s family had tried to stay in touch with him, but his responses to their calls and texts grew infrequent. When he did answer, they said, it was usually because they threatened to request more welfare checks to Room 22. He downplayed their concerns, which made Linda worry more.
“He didn’t sound like himself. It’s like he was being coached on what to say,” she said. “Sam lived with me his whole, entire life. We were always together. So I know how Sam talks — and this was not Sam.”
On Dec. 4, she said, she got an email from the Ontario County Department of Social Services, which includes the town where Sam was living.
“I’m working with your son Sam. He wanted me to reach you,” the worker wrote, according to a screenshot of the exchange shared by Linda. “If you can please contact me as soon as you get this email.”
The social services agent later told her in a phone call that Arzuaga was controlling Sam’s cellphone use, that he wanted to come home to Minnesota and that he was concocting an “escape plan,” Linda said. The agent added that Sam was supposed to return to the social services office on Dec. 19, but he never showed up, Linda said. The county social services department didn’t respond to requests for comment.
Sam’s friend Seeger was also sending messages every few days and receiving sporadic responses.
A day or two before New Year’s, Seeger said, Sam texted. He said everything was going well, that he was staying at Patty’s Lodge and that he planned to celebrate the holiday in New York.
On New Year’s Day, Linda spoke with Sam, wishing him a fresh start to 2025.
“He kept the conversation short and said, ‘I love you and I’ll call you tomorrow,’” she said.
It was the last time she ever spoke to him.
How could this have happened here?
Sam’s stay in New York had turned hellish.
The torture, according to court records, started on New Year’s Day and went on for weeks. Seven people, including Arzuaga, held him captive in Room 22, meting out a hideous pattern of abuse. Authorities say the group kicked him, beat him with sticks, dog toys, ropes, bottles, belts, canes and wooden boards. They starved him, forced him to eat feces and drink urine and tobacco spit.
They made him kneel facing a wall, doused him with bleach and sexually assaulted him with foreign objects, court records say. Among those in the room were two young children who were coerced into some of the abuse, authorities said. Asked this week if the children belonged to Arzuaga and if the children were now in state custody, Wolford, the assistant district attorney, declined to comment.
New York State Police Capt. Kelly Swift, the local commander overseeing the case, called Sam Nordquist’s killing “one of the most horrific crimes I have ever investigated."
While all this was going on for weeks inside Room 22, there appears to be no indication that that any witnesses overheard the torture. No one reported any suspicious activity at Patty’s Lodge, officials said this week.
The case has triggered a wave of soul-searching in Canandaigua, with neighbors wondering how the crime went unnoticed for so long.
Tarra Morrice, who lives with her husband and young children in a house neighboring Patty’s Lodge — a few dozen feet from Room 22 — said she wept upon hearing the news.
“We didn’t hear anything, didn’t notice anything,” Morrice, 38, said. “That’s part of the reason we were upset, because any indication could have helped or something. But there was nothing.”
Some in the area want Patty’s Lodge to be held responsible for what happened there. But the hotel is not under investigation for any wrongdoing, authorities have said.
Still, for years, the hotel has been the target of complaints from residents, code enforcement officers and the Department of Social Services about rodent and insect infestations, government inspection records show.
Railyn Rogers was placed by the Department of Social Services at Patty’s Lodge for three weeks in 2022 with her 3-year-old daughter. She still lives in the area, still drives past Patty’s Lodge. Her experience, and the details of what happened to Sam there, haunt her.
“How many times did we drive past there and this was going on?” Rogers said. “It makes me feel some sort of guilt. It’s horrible.”
Manny Patel, who is identified in city inspection records as an owner of Patty’s Lodge, declined to comment when NBC News reached him by phone. He said he’d talked to investigators and had nothing more to share. “I have no say in this,” he said.
Concerns for Sam grow
Weeks went by with little or no response from Sam, his family said. His sister Kayla Nordquist kept sending her brother pictures of her children. She said that aside from threats of more welfare checks, Sam had a weak spot for photos of her young kids and would usually gushingly respond. But not this time. Over the next few days, the family repeatedly called Sam’s phone and got no response.
On Feb. 9, they called New York State Police, asking for another welfare check on Room 22.
Police told the family someone answered the door and claimed not to know who Sam was, Linda said. When the family told authorities that the explanation was implausible, troopers returned to Room 22 the same day and this time were met by Arzuaga. Arzuaga said she and Sam broke up and that he left a few weeks prior, police said, according to his mother.
That same day, Linda and Kayla asked a trooper to file a missing person report. The trooper declined, they said.
“She said I need to stop watching so much TV, something about it not being a true crime episode,” Kayla said.
The State Police disputed their account. “Upon receiving concerns about Mr. Nordquist’s whereabouts, we took appropriate investigative steps,” said State Police spokesperson Crane.
“We understand the family’s grief and frustration and remain committed to a full and thorough investigation,” Crane added.
Sam’s family insists that police did not treat Sam as a missing person until Feb. 10, when the family filed a missing person report with the Oakdale Police Department, their local police in Minnesota. That report was added to a national law enforcement database and forwarded to authorities in Canandaigua.
The family also posted online about their search — and amateur sleuths and local residents jumped into action.
Michelle Pickard, who lives in nearby Farmington, New York, said she came across a missing person flyer for Sam on Facebook and felt compelled to help. Pickard said she spent a couple days searching for Sam at Patty’s Lodge and elsewhere, showing pictures to residents.
“I don’t know what drew me to this,” Pickard, 47, said in an interview. “I don’t normally do things like this. I could tell how Kayla was feeling. My heart just told me to do it. I would want someone to do the same for me.”
Sam’s family planned to fly to New York to do investigative work of their own, they said. Linda was waiting for her next paycheck before she could book a trip to Canandaigua to find her son.
“We were going to blow horns and drive up and down the streets. I made 300 copies of flyers. We were going to put a flyer on every door, every business, go door to door if we had to,” she said through tears. “Because if something was happening or if Sam was to a point where he couldn’t go home or whatever, at least Sam could possibly hear my voice and know: ‘Mom’s here. Mom’s looking.’”
Her opportunity never came.
A body found, and arrests made
On Feb. 13, local authorities found Sam’s decaying body, wrapped in plastic, in a field about a 20-minute drive southeast of Patty’s Lodge. His body was likely dumped at the beginning of the month, investigators said.
The next day, police announced that five people — Arzuaga; Jennifer Quijano, 30; Kyle Sage, 33; Patrick goodwin, 30; and Emily Motyka, 19 — were arrested in his death. A few days after that, two other suspects — Arzuaga’s son Thomas Eaves, 21, and Kimberly Sochia, 29 — were arrested.
They have all been charged with first-degree murder, second-degree murder, kidnapping, conspiracy, endangering the welfare of a child and concealment of a human corpse. Four of them — Arzuaga, Quijano, Sage and goodwin — have also been charged with aggravated sexual abuse. Arzuaga additionally faces two charges of coercion for allegedly forcing the children to participate in the attacks.
Authorities haven’t revealed why they believe this particular group came together to carry out the torture and killing. They have only said some were romantically involved and others knew each other from the area. Records show that goodwin, a registered sex offender, was staying in Room 16 at Patty’s Lodge at the time of his arrest. He and Sage, who lived nearby, were both on parole after serving prison time. goodwin was convicted of sexual abuse and sexual acts against children, Sage of disseminating indecent materials to minors.
An outpouring of support
In death, Sam finally received what he traveled so far to find: an outpouring of love.
For weeks, friends, family members and strangers who sympathized with his tragic story have joined a wave of online posts commemorating him and calling for justice. LgBTQ advocates have held vigils and protests in his honor.
Advocates have also publicly questioned why the case hasn’t been considered a hate crime. Some have compared Sam to 21-year-old Matthew Shepard, a gay man who was beaten, tied to a fence and left for dead in 1998. Shepard’s murder drew international attention and fueled a movement for anti-LgBTQ hate crime legislation.
Transgender people, in particular men, are significantly more likely to face intimate partner violence, according to federal data and a 2024 investigation published in the Journal of the American Medical Association.
But those accused in the death were not charged with a hate crime. New York investigators pushed back against the criticism; Wolford, the prosecutor, said Sam’s killing was being prosecuted as murder in the first degree, the most serious crime in New York state law, with a penalty of life in prison without parole. (New York doesn’t have the death penalty.)
“A hate crime would make this charge about Sam’s gender or about Sam’s race, and it’s so much bigger,” Wolford said. “To limit us to a hate crime would be an injustice to Sam. Sam deserves to have his story told in its entirety.”
She said that the investigation would continue. Dates for the seven defendants’ next court appearances have not yet been set.
The Nordquist family traveled to New York last month to meet with investigators and receive his body.
They brought him home, back to Minnesota, where he was laid to rest.
At Patty’s Lodge, the children’s bicycles that leaned outside Room 22 have been removed. A red rose placed at the doorstep is now gone. The rainbow Pride flag and a Puerto Rican flag that adorned the windows no longer hang there.
They have been replaced by a set of stark, white blinds.
If you or someone you know is facing domestic violence, call the National Domestic Violence hotline for help at (800) 799-SAFE (7233), or go to www.thehotline.org.
Lavietes reported from Canandaigua, Schuppe from New York.
