Many years ago, over 30 in fact, I was involved in the investigation of the first murder case of my career. I was not actually in Jamaica Constabulary Force (JCF) yet, but I was supporting the case as a private investigator.

My roles were crime scene reconstruction and witness protection. I was in my very early 20s. To say I was stressed out by the experience would be an understatement. Thirty-odd years later, having participated in hundreds of murder investigations in different roles and in scores of trials, I laugh at what was stressing me.

The stress was largely caused by ignorance and underexposure to the system. It was also caused by the players in the system who seemed bent on making a hard case that much harder. Let me explain.

The accused were from two rival gangs affiliated to two separate political parties. However, they seemed to have made peace for this case. They were jointly charged for the murder of a young man named Wayne. I often escorted the witness and the family of the deceased to court in the old courtyard, where both gangs were significantly represented. That alone felt like walking through a gauntlet.

Bear in mind I had the witness and inexperienced, underexposed female family members with me. Couple that with my lack of experience, an old car, an older .38 revolver, and every route out of that part of Spanish Town under gang control. Now can you feel my fear?

Then there was this cop who worked at the court. He made it his point of duty to disarm me every time, and he did it in full view of the gangsters. So they knew I was really inadequately armed and, to boot, a “nobody” in the eyes of law enforcement. I couldn’t understand this cop.

Years later when I became a cop and was working in the Criminal Investigations Branch (CIB), I went to court and, you ‘betcha’, he was right there standing in the same doorway. He likely didn’t remember me so I made sure to remind him. After explaining myself and listening to his pathetic excuse I told him simply: “Bredda, your world is as big as the door jamb,” and walked away. I’m not sure he understood what I meant, but you do.

Wayne’s murder then, as it does now, impacted me significantly. You see, the majority of murders I am exposed to, more than 80 per cent in fact, are of gang members who, in many ways, caused their own demise. Wayne was only guilty of stopping at the wrong bar to use the bathroom.

He was a truck driver. When he tried to enter the restroom to use one of the toilets he was prevented by a thug at the door. He shoved past the thug, who was apparently guarding the door as his fellow thug was having intercourse with a go-go dancer in the bathroom. A brawl erupted and Wayne was stabbed to death.

The incident shook me then because at that age it could have happened to me. It shakes me now because I have a son that age and I’m pretty sure it could happen to him. The 50-year-old version of me would leave that bathroom and find a tyre, but I’m pretty sure my 20-odd-year-old son wouldn’t.

The case was investigated and two of the three men who ganged up on Wayne were charged. At the first court hearing the first accused was held. His alias was “Crawler”. During the introduction the prosecutor outlined the case and the fact that the witness had been threatened.

“Crawler” got up and basically shouted at the judge. He was a tall, hostile-looking man with violent eyes and the most antagonistic demeanour I had ever seen. You could hear the ferocity and aggression in his voice and see them in his body language.

I was, at the time, already fighting internationally. I was over 200 lbs and strong. However, I had nothing in my arsenal that could fight a man like that. Wayne had to fight three like that! And they were all armed with knives.

That case changed my training forever. I no longer trained with a ring on my mind, but rather a cell. I knew that if I ever ended up in one I would need to be able to fight the Crawlers of this world.

The case was flawlessly prosecuted by a young Martin Gayle, who later became a high court judge. But, alas, getting a jury to give a decision in those days in Spanish Town against gang members was hard. It still is, actually. The thugs were acquitted but both died horrible deaths within a year.

I learnt a lot from that case and have worked on many others since. However, losing the matter still bothers me. Wayne’s family still mourns losing him. I lost my ignorant faith in the justice system for a while and I still don’t think it is victim-centred. I will, however, admit that defendants get very fair trials. The random brutality that caused Wayne’s death is still an ever present part of our culture. It is also present in other countries.

There are many countries, though, where it doesn’t exist. Therefore, we should not accept it. It exists because of lack of consequences. Sadly, one of the reasons for the lack of consequences is the fair, but defendant-centred justice system. It’s a terrible price to pay for a fair trial, but it is the price.

In over a dozen countries I can think of there would be no way those killers could have been released back into society. However, I wouldn’t want to live in most of those countries and they would very likely have arrested me for my journalistic exploits. Making a system fair but strong and unbending is hard. I get that. But what is the cost?

The “Crawlers”, the “Teshas”, the “Blackmen”, and the others who kill with a moment’s stimulus are a very small minority of our country. They make up less than one per cent, but it is they who cause us to live with a United States travel advisory that is hurting tourism. It is they who are crippling our health budget. It is they who, every year, take hundreds of “Waynes” away from their families.

Feedback: drjasonamckay@gmail.com