Just another sad anniversary …15 years of not knowing Trevor Fung’s killers

Feb 24, 2019 Features / Columnists, Murder and Mystery

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Three years ago, I walked along Eping Avenue, Bel Air Park, where an unsolved murder happened and devastated a family. I had walked there before, back in February 2004, looking for answers, finding none.
Eping Avenue was the same that night, as it was back then…dismal, practically deserted and a potentially deadly place to be after sundown, particularly in those years of the crime wave. It was there that two young robbers killed 18-year-old student Trevor Fung on Valentine’s night.
After all this time, they may be still out there, maybe even reading the yearly tributes to their victim. Maybe someone reading this story knows who they are. I’m counting on that. I’m counting that they have a conscience and that even after all this time has passed, they can find it in themselves to give Trevor’s family some measure of closure.
Trevor Julius Fung was a student of St. Stanislaus College, who had excelled at his CXC exams. He had a love for animals and had his sights set on a career in veterinary medicine after entering university.
On the night of February 14, 2004, 18-year-old Trevor attended a Valentine’s Night party in Arakaka Place, Bel Air Park. At around 8.00 p.m., Trevor and a female University of Guyana student left the party briefly to go to a fast food outlet on Vlissengen Road.
After Trevor bought a ‘Zinger’, they left the outlet and were heading back to the party when two men on a blue scooter rode directly up to the friends in the vicinity of Eping Avenue and Abary Street. The men immediately made their intentions clear by ordering the friends to hand over their valuables.
Trevor pushed the robbers and began to struggle with one of the attackers, who had shoulder-length dreadlocks and was wearing a white shirt. According to the female friend, she tried to run away after the man drew ‘something’ from his waist. However, the same robber pursued and caught her, then snatched her bag before fleeing.
The friend then returned to the scene of the attack and found Trevor lying on the roadway. He had been stabbed four times and was unable to speak.
The young woman then returned to the party where she alerted the other friends. A stranger with a car took Trevor to the Georgetown Hospital’s Accident and Emergency Unit, where he was pronounced dead.
Although police had a description of Trevor Fung’s killer, they never came close to apprehending anyone.
I still remember being in a taxi, hearing my cell phone ring, and Trevor’s mother, Devi Fung, telling me that her eldest son had been murdered. I remember going next day to the area where he had been killed; going also to the fast food outlet that he had visited.
I had thought that maybe the killers had trailed Trevor and his friend from the outlet, and that security cameras there might have recorded the suspects. I got nothing.

In January 2010, Trevor’s relatives posted a $1M reward for information that would lead to the arrest of his killers, and also for individuals who had killed his 78-year-old grandmother, Rajkumarie Mahadeo, in 2009. They got no response.
“The truth is I have I have actually given up hope of the police ever catching his killers, unless individuals come forward,” his mother Devi Fung told me a few days before his death anniversary.
“The one eyewitness is no longer living in Guyana, and will not travel back just to ID any suspect. At the time, I was told the police had a suspect, but instead of following up on their lead and going after him, they chose to treat his friend like the criminal, not bothering to investigate if/what she said was true or false. They never showed her a picture of the suspect to try and ID him. I just hope that the cold-blooded killers are already dead, so they are no longer roaming the streets of Georgetown.
As everyone moves on with their lives, women like me have to smile and face the world while their lives have been shattered into a million pieces. If they show emotion, people think they are crazy or not moving on; as if there is anything like moving on when you lose a child. Year after year I try to think of ways to keep his memory alive; I cannot believe it’s been 15 years.
I hate to hear people say he is in a better place. Sometimes I wonder how they would respond if I ask ‘which one of your children would you like to go to that better place.’ but I know that would make me sound bitter, and they are only trying to say something nice. I know some of my friends may think I am living in the past or not letting go as they would put it, even though none have told me to my face. But all I want to do is keep his memory alive till the day I die. Even in my happiest moment I picture him being with us.”

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