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Oakland, California
Joe McRory hadn’t hot-wired a car since he was a teenager, but it’s a skill that once mastered lasts a lifetime. The last time he boosted a car he placed the transmission in neutral and several of his partners in crime pushed the vehicle down the road. Once safely away from his father’s home, he crossed the wires and patiently waited for the engine to start.
This time he didn’t have enough partners to call on. The truck with its sizeable V-8 diesel engine outweighed most cars. He needed a small army to push it anywhere. A small army would be difficult to hide in the motel parking lot. So, he took a deep breath, crossed the wires, and the big diesel roared to life sounding like the world’s largest cutlery drawer opened and just as quickly closed, repeatedly. He knew he had only seconds to get the loud truck in gear and out of the parking lot before Nelson Tyendinaga awoke. Fortunately for McRory, Tyendinaga was thoroughly medicated with a healthy dose of OxyContin. He didn’t hear a thing.
Alice Linda pulled her red truck into the lot after McRory departed. She parked it in the spot most recently occupied by Tyendinaga’s vehicle. Just detailed, the truck had “steal me” written all over it. She helped matters along by leaving the keys under the floor mat and the driver’s side door unlocked.
Ten minutes later they were both in McRory’s room. The drapes pulled shut obscured the view through the window and into the second-floor lair. They ate the breakfast rolls and drank the coffee McRory purchased to celebrate his second successful car heist.
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Tyendinaga awoke much later than was his custom. Rising to a sitting position with his feet on the floor he lacked the will power to stand. His chest was tight and his breathing labored. He forced himself to stand and slowly pace the perimeter of the small room. He coughed twice wondering if he was coming down with bronchitis, again.
The hot water and steam of the shower provided additional relief. By the time he was dressed and leaving his room he was feeling much improved. It wasn’t until he reached the midpoint of the parking lot that he realized his truck was missing. He stood motionless on the cracked and pitted asphalt staring at the bright red Ford truck. He’d seen that same truck outside the Salesforce Tower.
Slowly Tyendinaga turned a full 360 degrees looking for anything or anyone suspicious. At this late morning hour, the parking lot was almost empty. The longer-term residents were gone doing whatever they did during the day. The only activity in the two-story building was in the manager’s office, and nothing there looked out of the ordinary. Suddenly an older woman pushed a maid’s cart from the office in the direction of the first room on the bottom floor. The normal daily rhythm of a motel.
Tyendinaga continued walking in the direction of his former parking spot. He stopped at the driver’s door noticing the lock stem was in the unlocked position. He opened the door, mounted the seat, and popped open the dashboard glove box. The registration listed Alice Linda as the owner. He smiled. What game was the little lady playing?
He noticed the obvious lump under the floor mat. He pulled out the keychain sticking his finger through the ring. Tyendinaga twirled the set of keys around his finger and paused. He twirled them a second time. And then a third time. He smiled yet again and pressed the ignition switch. He let the truck idle for a minute, reset the transmission to drive, and exited the motel lot.
Linda, watching from the second floor, called the Oakland Police to report a stolen vehicle. Using her smartphone, she watched the truck’s progress marked on a map of downtown Oakland. She could tell the police dispatcher where the truck was and where it was headed. Afterwards, she left an anonymous tip with Oakland’s Crime Watcher’s telephone service identifying Nelson Tyendinaga as the person who murdered the construction worker at the Salesforce Tower.
An Oakland Police patrol apprehended Tyendinaga before he reached the Bay Bridge. Tyendinaga went quietly into the back of the patrol car facing a charge of grand theft. Before he reached the police station the department lodged an additional charge of first degree murder. What the police officials couldn’t understand was why Tyendinaga’s Dodge truck was found parked in the lot of one of their precinct stations. And they certainly didn’t find credible his claim the truck was stolen from the motel parking lot. After all, who steals any vehicle only to abandon it at a police station parking lot?
During his arraignment hearing, Tyendinaga was originally represented by a harried public defender whose caseload was filled with guilty felons all loudly proclaiming their innocence. The defender’s stock in trade was to convince each of his clients that an adverse trial outcome was a certainty, a better outcome was assured by a plea deal. Before the tired, young lawyer could make that argument to his latest client, he was replaced by one of the better criminal trial lawyers from a large law firm in San Francisco courtesy of Elsemere. With better representation, Tyendinaga was moved to the jail hospital unit and reunited with his prescription for OxyContin.
Inmate medications were stored in the medical unit pharmacy. Like most jails, who had what, who received what, became common knowledge among the inmate population. OxyContin pills were highly sought after medications. And, like most jails, anything could be had for the right price.
Ambulatory inmates were expected to present themselves at the medical unit’s pharmacy window to receive each dose of medication. When Tyendinaga approached the window, the worker behind the glass partition placed a small paper cup with a single pill through the secured drawer onto Tyendinaga’s side of the glass wall. What happened next would never be determined by jail officials.
Medication disbursements were routinely recorded on the unit’s CCTV system—when it’s working. By a strange coincidence, the video camera was out of service that afternoon to investigate earlier reports of sporadic malfunctions. So, there was no video record of Tyendinaga’s visit to the pharmacy window.
Bed checks were taken several times each day, and when Tyendinaga was reported missing, jail guards conducted a search of the medical unit to locate him. He was found unconscious in a stall in the restroom. Attempts to resuscitate continued during the time he was transported by ambulance to the nearby hospital emergency room. Unfortunately, the emergency room physicians were unaware of his medical condition and medical history. Few urban physicians knew that Addison’s was endemic among populations of Native Americans, since few urban hospital emergency rooms had the opportunity to treat them. The likelihood of respiratory distress induced by the sustained use of OxyContin was never considered.
Nelson Tyendinaga was pronounced dead thirty-five minutes after his arrival in the trauma unit. The cause: severe respiratory and central nervous system distress that failed to respond to conventional treatment and medical intervention. Two days later, a confirming autopsy completed, Tyendinaga’s body was released by the hospital to a local mortuary who had been tasked to transport his remains to his family in Ontario.
Elsemere’s loyalty to some of its contractors was better than others.