By the dusty gauge of desert justice—and perhaps the dawdling rhythm of bureaucracy—two years is a mighty long time to wait for a man accused of murder to get clapped in leg irons. But lo and behold, the long arm of the law, slow as it may be, has proven it still knows its way ’round the border and back again.
Oswaldo Natanahel Perez-Sanchez, the man fingered for the brutal slaying of young Tabatha Tozzi in Las Vegas, has at last been yanked from his hidey-hole in Sonora, Mexico, where he’d been living under a borrowed name and likely hoping the world would forget him. The world did not.
You might ask, what does a man do after he shoots his girlfriend in the head during a domestic spat? If you’re Perez-Sanchez, you steal a car, vanish like a puff of smoke in a thunderstorm, and hightail it to Mexico with all the arrogance of someone who thinks accountability is a myth.
He fooled just enough people to stay one step ahead of the law for a while. But justice, as the old saying goes, may be blind–but she listens real close—and in this case, she had help from a chorus of law officers, federal agents, and Mexican authorities who were good and tired of his charade.
The Fiscalía Unidad Especializada en Aprehensiones, with a hearty assist from the Mexican Marines and other investigative forces south of the border, scooped him up in Ciudad Obregón. While not shouted from rooftops—the arrest was echoed in headlines and confirmed by the FBI, DEA, and about half the alphabet soup of law enforcement agencies that had kept his wanted poster tacked to their mental bulletin boards.
Las Vegas Metropolitan Police, never one to ignore a good piece of collaborative triumph, extended their thanks to all who helped track the fugitive down—from the U.S. Marshals in Nevada and Arizona to the Customs and Border Protection’s Special Operations folks out of San Diego. They’ve now got him in hand, and while he faces charges in Mexico first, his northbound trip for an American reckoning is reportedly already on the books.
Back in Las Vegas, where the shadow of this tragedy has hung like a stubborn dust cloud, the news came with a complicated blend of relief and grief. Tabatha’s family—led by her heartbroken mother, Regina Lacerda—has never let up.
Regina, a woman whose strength could probably shame a cavalry charge, has fought to keep her daughter’s memory from fading into a cautionary tale.
“She told me she was afraid,” Regina once said, “Afraid he’d hurt himself. I asked, ‘To himself or you?’”
Her daughter never got the chance to answer. On April 22, 2023, Tabatha called her mother, panicked and desperate.
Regina tried to get to her. She was minutes too late.
Though not hers to bear—it has hung heavy on her ever since. Since that day, she has spoken to news crews, organized rallies, and lit candles under the stars—all in memory of a daughter who was only beginning her life when it got cruelly ended.
Tabatha Tozzi was 26 years old when she died. Friends described her as warm and generous, the kind of soul who could charm a thunderstorm into holding off until you made shelter.
Her “Tabby Tribe”—a circle of friends and family that grew into a movement—never let the world forget her. They held vigils, called for justice, and promised this would not be one of those cases that cools in a drawer until the paper yellows and the names get misspelled.
Perez-Sanchez is also now under investigation in connection with another woman’s murder—this one discovered just days ago in Culiacán. If true, it paints a picture of a man who did not go quietly into exile but carried his violence with him like a worn-out suitcase.
He now awaits proceedings in Culiacán’s Aguaruto Penitentiary, and his journey back to Nevada will begin soon enough. There, he will face charges in a courtroom that will likely be filled with the faces of the “Tabby Tribe” and led by a mother who never stopped fighting.
Almost exactly two years since her death, on April 24, a memorial will be held for Tabatha at Craig Ranch Regional Park. It won’t be a quiet affair, but then justice never is.
It’s loud, messy, and often arrives late to the party. But when it comes, it kicks the door in.
And sometimes, that’s enough to make the desert breathe easy again.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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