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Cold cases
There are many of them. Murderers, defrauders, and phantoms, to name the more serious and anxiety-provoking. Those who functioned as aiders and abettors, also fall in this felonious circle that roam around free, and without any concerned look over shoulders. Cold cases they are called; in Guyana that is as good as labeling the majority (not all) of them dead and buried cases. The clean in the Guyana Police Service struggles for occasional successes.
Though relevant, it is pointless to focus on who sponsored, protected, enabled. That is all history; to a great degree, nothing is going to come out of anything related to those sinister supports. Nothing is going to happen to those who capitalized on chronic lawlessness and emerged richer. That is, whether they are in the Guyana Police Service, the Public Service, or the august corridors of lawmaking.
The lucrative business of facilitating criminal conduct may no longer be as viable as before; but none should make the mistake of thinking that it has disappeared. Simply gone underground and operating in a more nuanced manner currently. Those intellectual authors are left alone; too slick, too insulated. Meagre returns.
The focus has to be on the crux of the problem: the unsolved murders, the open-ended drain on the Treasury. Those perpetrators are operating in the middle of society: in the streets, in offices, in high places and sensitive boardrooms, in assemblies. A nation of laws and not men…. Says who? They are out there, aren’t they?
They are many with their secrets and their private records. Save for the fact that they are not so secret nor private. This is a small society, with many clustered in smaller, cramped confines. Some are known -people participated, people talk, people benefited; others are on the radar of suspicion – it is a broad one and heavily populated; still others are walking, breathing monuments of the illegitimately obtained -the accumulation, the style, the consumption, and the swagger.
What to do about them? Something has to be. Listen and look. There must be learning. As society pays through the nose in double and triple jeopardy. Perils multiply. There are those records: previously accused, previously freed, still active, still dedicated to the craft of criminality and mayhem. It is a harsh heavy price to pay. The banks are a problem; they might as well be bankrupt. Just don’t make a run there; it could lead to having to run for life. Try outrunning a network of informers, a trailing car, a lurking ambush, or a speeding bullet. The question hangs around: what to do about them? The question lingers, is not going anywhere; for perpetrators have neither conscience nor compassion nor any intentions of going straight. Too cheap, too tedious, too meaningless.
It is the same story with those of the white-collar variety in white-coated offices. Stacks and stacks of collections; old customers and fresh, new prey. Just get the thing done: a matter of culture, a matter of mindsets and monies made to move mountains. The monies are that mountainous. That is why there were and are so many of these practitioners around.
For those sniffing at scents long stale and trails gone cold, there is that ancient standard to remember and to follow: follow the money, and when that fails look for temptress and tempter. There is always one or the other in those concealed dirty pictures. But again: they are not so hidden. The testaments of Guyanese civilization are there: towering and prosperous. They awe; they enlighten. Therein rests the soul of the story.
Those cold cases: there are those executioners; facilitators in official clothing; seekers of truth in robes and with articulation and documentation to plaster any sore, fix any problem. Those waxing furiously about principle and truth and constitution. They are the prosperous hogs. Hogs have a lot of fat; some is not genetics. Rich diet of evidence accuses.
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