Ten years ago, gunfire inside the Port-of-Spain prison sent shockwaves through the capital. Three inmates armed with two pistols and a grenade shot their way out of custody in broad daylight—killing a police officer and wounding others in what remains one of the most violent and mysterious prison breaks in Trinidad and Tobago’s history.
The incident led to the deaths of two inmates, Allan “Scanny” Martin and Hassan Atwell, the murder of policeman PC Sherman Maynard and panic that engulfed a city for weeks.
The lone surviving escapee, Christopher “Monster” Selby, surrendered to police days later and has since been returned to the Port-of-Spain Remand Yard where he remains to this day.
Now, a decade later, the threat once again comes from within.
In the early hours of Friday morning, a number of inmates were quietly relocated from the Arouca and Port-of-Spain prisons—part of a wider security sweep under the current State of Emergency.
According to intelligence sources, the action was triggered by an alarming revelation: the resurgence of a prison-based criminal syndicate allegedly plotting attacks on state officials.
But even as authorities move to disrupt this latest threat, they have yet to fully explain the last one.
Though it was heavily speculated that the trio received the weapons from prison officers, this was never conclusively proven despite multiple investigations, tribunal hearings, and promises of justice.
Similarly, the parallel theory that unidentified civilian visitors in the prison’s visiting room supplied the weapons also remains unproven.
No one has ever been charged for smuggling the weapons. No prison officers were arrested. No public closure.
How three inmates in 2015 managed to obtain military-grade weapons inside a high-security prison remains officially unsolved.
While the mystery of the last prison escape still hangs heavy over T&T—a new crisis looms.
Chaos erupted in Port-of-Spain ten years ago when a dramatic prison break left three people dead, one wounded, and the nation reeling. A decade later, the mystery remains unsolved.
To this day, there’s no clear account of how three inmates got their hands on two pistols and a hand grenade inside the prison walls. No charges. No resolution. The matter remains on record as unsolved because it is still under investigation.
In the immediate aftermath, then-DCP Crime and Operations Glenn Hackett was appointed to lead the investigation.
Guardian Media contacted Hackett in June for comment and sent questions to him via WhatsApp.
He said he spoke with the current DCP in charge of Intelligence and Investigations, Suzette Martin, who advised him that the matter is still under “active investigation”, to date, with suspects expected to be charged “imminently”.
In response, Hackett said, “It is given the totality of the circumstances that I must regretfully decline the interview. My profound apologies.”
Since January 22, Guardian Media has been seeking an update from the TTPS Corporate Communications Unit on the status of the investigation. A TTPS spokesperson acknowledged receipt of the questions, but despite repeated follow-ups, no responses were provided as of July 18.
Among the questions posed were: how the inmates obtained the weapons used in the escape; why no prison officers have been arrested or charged in connection with the incident; and whether a certain “high-profile” inmate was involved.
When asked if the prison service’s probe revealed how the inmates received the guns, a similar response was received from Prisons Commissioner Carlos Corraspe via email earlier this month.
“While the specifics of how and when the weapons entered the prison have not been fully confirmed, there have been leads as to how it was facilitated. Because this matter speaks to criminal liability, I am wary to place this information in the public space for obvious reasons.”
In the years following the incident, the quality of the police investigation has come under scrutiny—particularly as some individuals connected to the matter have claimed they were never interviewed by officers.
Despite these concerns, retired Prison Commissioner Dennis Pulchan, who led the prison service’s internal investigation into the escape, maintains that a comprehensive inquiry was conducted on their end.
Speaking with Guardian Media earlier this month, Pulchan, who was an Assistant Commissioner of Prisons in charge of Operations at the time of the escape, described the lack of clarity a decade later as “unfortunate”.
Pulchan’s work on the probe led to the suspension of three prison officers: Lancelot Duntin, Mervyn Pierre, and Wilbert Lovell.
Duntin and Pierre were accused of failing to act promptly and decisively on information received about the escape, while Lovell was charged with “failing to conduct himself in a manner so as not to bring discredit to the reputation of the Prison Service when having received information”.
Throughout the tribunal, the men maintained their innocence and even accused the prison service’s leadership at the time of treating them as scapegoats. The matter against them was discontinued in 2020.
Asked about the officers’ claims of being persecuted without evidence or just cause, Pulchan maintained that he did what was required as an investigator.
“They provided statements, the statements were also issued to the service commission, and the service commission found no one guilty. There’s nothing much I can say beyond that.”
But for Lancelot Duntin, one of the prison officers who was accused, the matter isn’t as straightforward.
Duntin said that even after the case was discontinued, his reputation has never fully recovered from being named among the accused officers.
Although he was never charged with directly aiding the escapees, Duntin said this has not prevented some people from drawing their own conclusions about him.
“That is a stain on my name, and the same enthusiasm they had to announce I was suspended, where was the enthusiasm to inform the public when I was exonerated? They took half of my salary when I was on suspension, and mentally my head was all over the place.”
To this day, he insists that he and his fellow officers were suspended merely to appease a public still unsettled by the security breach at such a high-risk facility.
Will the truth ever
be revealed?
Ten years is a long time for an investigation of such high public interest to yield no further answers.
Despite repeated assurances that inquiries are ongoing, there is still no guarantee that the truth about how the inmates accessed weapons will ever come to light.
When Guardian Media asked Pulchan whether he believed the truth would ever be revealed—or if anyone would be held accountable for arming the inmates—he could not say.
“I can tell you that during that investigation, every single person involved in that matter was investigated thoroughly, and the evidence provided. Whether new evidence will surface is yet to be seen and yet to be known.”
But after a decade waiting, Lancelot Duntin isn’t very hopeful that anything tangible will emerge from the incident.
He believes the truth behind the escape remains elusive—not because it’s unknowable, but because revealing it may not serve the interests of certain individuals.
“The State seemed not to care about those persons who worked behind prison walls then and now. A question as basic as who made the allegations against us that led to our suspension, we have never known to this day.”
Duntin, who was charged with failing to act decisively, claimed that he was never questioned about the weapons even in the immediate aftermath of the escape.
“This was a gun used to kill (a policeman), but nobody was asking how a gun reached the state prison. It came by boat, maybe by a submarine, maybe by a helicopter, maybe by a drone, maybe by a prison officer, maybe by a visitor. Nobody knows.”
Air of mystery
But the air of mystery that continues to shroud even the most basic questions about the escape is part of a larger problem in T&T’s systems, according to the president of the Prison Officers’ Association, Gerard Gordon.
In an interview earlier this year, Gordon said he was not hopeful that the truth would be revealed.
“It seems that in our society, the truth doesn’t really matter. The people who have to do these investigations ... nobody is pressuring them to get answers. Nobody feels pressured, and it goes all around to society, that’s why we have people sit down in a holding cell for 15 and 16 years awaiting matters.”
In the wake of the prison escape, Gordon said the image of the prison service and its officers suffered, as the security breach occurred under their watch—prompting speculation that corrupt elements may have been involved.
It’s a matter that continues to haunt many within the service, and the unanswered questions surrounding the escape still weigh heavily on him.
“At which point exactly did they get the firearms? Did they walk out of the division with their firearms, and even if they did, were they searched? Did the officers search them when they got out? There are so many questions, and I don’t know what kind of investigation was done. Do we really want to find out, or what do we want to find out?”
But even if the truth of how the escapees got access to guns is revealed, Gordon isn’t optimistic that such information would be enough to prompt changes in the systems and infrastructure of the prison service.
When contacted for comment, former justice minister Prakash Ramadhar, who visited the scene of the escape that afternoon, said the lack of answers a decade later was not only uncomfortable but “nauseating” for him as the matter remained unresolved.
“Don’t say it’s still under investigation, because that is really kicking a can down the road for failures to properly investigate or find facts. You can’t say there was not sufficient evidence or there was sufficient evidence to do something; it’s left open, and we hear too much of these allegations and investigations going on for years without closure.
“There must come a moment when you say, ‘Look, I’ve exhausted all opportunity.’ What more opportunity could there be after ten years, and a file is still open?”
While several investigations were underway at the time, Ramadhar said he did not have oversight or any supervisory authority for any of the matters.
When asked if he felt the truth of how the inmates got access to the weapons would ever be revealed, Ramadhar said he was unsure.
“Somebody or some persons know. I can only hope, in the highest level of optimism, that that may come at some point in time. The reality after ten years in my view is dim, and therefore we have an open wound that a lawman lost his life in service of this nation without an answer as to who was responsible.”