标签： Bahamas

A prominent Bahamian small business owner and family man has been killed in an apparent targeted hit-and-run, just weeks before he was set to take the witness stand against a man he helped arrest for robbing him last year, according to his surviving family.

James McPhee, 59, a husband and father of three, was discovered with life-threatening upper-body lacerations and trauma early Sunday morning. The tragic discovery came just 48 hours after he marked his birthday alongside his twin brother on the Bahamas’ Independence Day, a holiday that coincided with the twins’ birth date.

Law enforcement investigators have confirmed they believe McPhee was intentionally struck by a vehicle. The incident unfolded near the intersection of Spikenard and Carmichael Roads, where two off-duty police officers witnessed a silver Suzuki hit McPhee as he lay on the roadway. Officers launched an immediate high-speed pursuit of the suspect vehicle, which ended in an exchange of gunfire between police and the vehicle’s occupants. One suspect was wounded during the confrontation and taken into custody, while additional occupants managed to flee the scene and remain at large as of the latest updates.

Family members have confirmed that the arrested suspect is the same individual who was accused of robbing McPhee last year. Following the alleged robbery, McPhee — who owned a local heavy equipment and environmental health business — personally subdued the suspect and turned him over to police authorities. The suspect was later released on bail while awaiting trial, which was scheduled to begin later this year with McPhee as the prosecution’s key witness.

John McPhee, James’ identical twin brother, told reporters the family has concluded the killing is directly tied to the upcoming trial, based on information they have received. While the family holds this belief, John added they are willing to wait patiently for law enforcement to conclude their official investigation before drawing any final conclusions.

“From what we understand, the trial was going to get underway very soon, so we do believe there’s a clear connection here — the assailant wanted to eliminate the main witness against him,” John McPhee explained.

John also shared that his nephew, James’ son, had recently raised concerns about his father’s safety amid the pending case. The younger McPhee had urged his father to apply for a concealed weapons permit for personal protection. But according to John, his brother noted that navigating the permit process would be extremely challenging under the current public safety and legal climate in the Bahamas.

It remains unclear exactly when the suspect was released on bail. John McPhee acknowledged that bail is a foundational component of any functional legal system, but warned that the policy carries tangible risks that cannot be ignored.

“People absolutely have a right to be granted bail before trial,” he said. “But it’s clear that access to bail comes with both benefits and risks. For our family, that risk became a devastating reality that cost us my brother’s life at the hands of people who never had any good intentions.”

The murder has left the tight-knit McPhee family shattered, just days after they gathered to celebrate the twins’ 59th birthday. John recalled that he was leaving the Paradise Island area when his older brother called him with the devastating news of James’ death.

Though the twins did not speak every day as adults, they shared an unbreakable bond forged during a difficult childhood growing up in Mayaguana. The pair lost their mother at a young age, and learned to rely on one another while mastering skills like boat navigation from a young age. John described his brother as ambitious, deeply patriotic, and the more outgoing and joyful of the two.

“I always tell people we were born in the year of the revolution, 1967 — the same year The Bahamas won majority rule,” John said. “And we were born on the day that would become the country’s Independence Day. It’s no coincidence that both of us grew up deeply patriotic, with a real love for this country. I often think that he loved The Bahamas more than The Bahamas loved him.”

John recalled a small, endearing quirk his brother had every time he called: James would start singing a familiar childhood tune the second John picked up the phone, a habit he used to reconnect with shared memories of their childhood, boating trips, and the places that shaped them. “He was just that type of person,” John said.

To the entire McPhee family, James was the unoffical matriarch of the family — the person who brought everyone together and earned the affection of every relative. He was also deeply dedicated to his business, constantly talking about plans to invest in and expand his company. James started his career as a welder before working as a firefighter, eventually opening his own heavy equipment and environmental health firm on Carmichael Road.

John shared that James had been looking forward to watching his youngest daughter graduate from school in the coming years. His sons, meanwhile, already grieve the weekly Sunday dinners James cooked for the whole family — cooking was one of his greatest passions outside of work and family.

As the investigation continues, no additional updates on the search for the remaining at-large suspects have been released to the public.

The grieving family of 43-year-old Ryan Basden, a father of six killed in a July 9 hit-and-run in Nassau Village, is publicly calling on law enforcement to secure and analyze all local surveillance footage from the crash site on Taylor Street, saying this evidence could lead to the identification of the driver who left Basden dying on the pavement and fled the scene. The tragedy occurred just one day before The Bahamas’ annual Independence Day celebration, deepening the family’s pain as they continue to search for answers more than a week after the incident.

Police official accounts confirm that Basden was attempting to cross Taylor Street when a gray Jeep with oversized custom rims struck him, and the driver immediately left the crash site rather than stopping to provide aid. Investigators have not yet located the suspect vehicle or its driver, leaving the case unresolved.

In an emotional press appeal, Kendrick Antonio Smith, Basden’s 47-year-old brother, explained that he conducted his own door-to-door canvassing of nearby residents in the days after the crash, and confirmed that the entire crash area is covered by multiple private and public surveillance cameras. However, Smith claims that investigators have not yet interviewed several witnesses who heard the collision and saw the suspect vehicle speed away from the scene.

“There are more than 20 cameras pointing at this stretch of road, and someone out there has footage that can solve this,” Smith said emotionally. “Right now, no one from law enforcement has come to collect that footage, and we are stuck without answers. All I am asking is that the proper authorities reach out to local residents, request access to the recordings, and review them to get a clear look at the license plate and the people inside the vehicle. That footage can track when the car entered Nassau Village, where it came from, and where it went after the crash. I should not have to do police work myself to get justice for my brother.”

Smith added that multiple local residents witnessed the crash: one neighbor was outside when the collision happened, and others reported seeing the Jeep flee after striking Basden. He also directly appealed to the hit-and-run driver to turn themselves in to authorities.

“If you have any decency, please turn yourself in. That is all I ask,” Smith said.

Family members described Basden as a well-known, hardworking member of the Nassau Village community who regularly volunteered to help neighbors, often worked alongside local elected officials on community projects, and was almost always seen with a smile. A loving father to five daughters and one son, Basden had never been involved in neighborhood conflict and was dedicated to building a stable, better life for his children.

Stephen Basden, 51, another of Ryan’s brothers, remembered his sibling as a loving, caring person who prioritized his family above all else. “We just want closure. We want to be able to grieve and know that justice has been done,” Stephen Basden said. “I don’t show my sadness outwardly, but it is there, deep inside. If there is something being hidden, this is not right. Ryan always believed in ‘one love’ — that is all we ask for now, fairness and unity to get answers.”

Stephen Basden shared that he first learned of the crash via a WhatsApp status update about a fatal hit-and-run, but initially did not realize the victim was his brother, until a cousin confirmed the devastating news. “When my cousin told me Ryan was gone, it hit me like a wave,” he recalled. “It was an awful feeling, none of us ever expected he would die this way.” He added that his brother regularly checked in on him and would stop by for a visit whenever he was in the neighborhood.

The timing of the tragedy, coming just 24 hours before the country’s Independence Day celebrations that many families in the area look forward to all year, has only amplified the family’s grief. Stephen Basden reiterated that his brother was focused on improving his life and securing a bright future for his six children before his sudden death.

Shortly after the crash on July 9, Royal Bahamas Police Force issued a public statement rejecting unsubstantiated online claims that an active serving officer of the force was responsible for Basden’s death. Police confirmed that no credible evidence has emerged to support that allegation, and that the investigation into the crash remains active and ongoing.

A peaceful Independence Day holiday in the Caribbean community of Bain Town devolved into deadly chaos when a sudden outburst of gunfire claimed the lives of two men and left three women wounded, with one of the fallen identified as an entirely innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. Thirty-three-year-old Delano Miller, a construction worker with a quiet, unassuming reputation, was the first fatality identified by his grieving family, alongside 24-year-old Fred Wildgoose. The violence unfolded in the Dumping Ground Corner neighborhood on the Friday evening of the holiday, marking the start of a bloody holiday weekend that would see two more deadly attacks across the area.

According to Larrie Miller Ferguson, Delano Miller’s aunt, her nephew had spent nearly the entire day relaxing inside his family home watching television. He had only stepped outside the residence to collect a container of water when the shooting began, stopping briefly to chat with a group of acquaintances who often gathered along the street front. Before anyone in the group could process what was happening, unidentified gunmen opened fire on the area, unleashing a barrage of bullets so intense that those caught in the attack initially thought they were caught in the middle of an action movie set, Ferguson recounted.

Miller’s father, who resides in the Bain Town home, heard the deafening cascade of gunshots minutes before a messenger arrived to tell him his son had been struck by gunfire. He immediately contacted Ferguson with the devastating news, and by the time the family connected with the information, Miller had already been rushed to the nearest hospital by emergency responders. Grieving relatives made their way to the medical facility shortly after, waiting for hours and navigating bureaucratic hurdles before they were allowed to confirm the grim outcome: Miller had been pronounced dead on arrival.

The loss of Miller comes only months after the family buried Miller’s mother, adding an unbearable layer of grief to their already profound pain. Ferguson described her nephew as a soft-spoken, gentle person who took after his late mother, never looking for trouble or engaging in conflict. In the wake of the tragedy, she issued a sharp rebuke of the escalating violence plaguing the community, arguing that no grievance justifies deadly bloodshed.

“Violence never solves anything,” Ferguson said in an interview. “If there was a problem or whatever happened between the parties involved, we can almost always reason through it and talk it out. Violence only creates more problems and complicates every situation. Now, whoever pulled the trigger is running, they’re afraid, and they might even feel sorry for what they did, but it’s too late to bring my nephew back.”

This deadly shooting in Bain Town was the opening act of a violent three-day holiday weekend across the region. Two days after the Bain Town attack, local authorities found a 59-year-old man suffering from catastrophic deep lacerations and severe upper-body trauma; he was pronounced dead shortly after being discovered. Later that same Sunday, a 36-year-old man was killed in a separate shooting in the Armbrister Street district of Fox Hill, capping a weekend of bloodshed that has shaken local communities.

On a day meant to celebrate national independence in the Bahamas, a devastating plane crash outside San Andros Airport turned a family’s long-awaited celebration into unthinkable tragedy, leaving one father grappling with overwhelming grief over the loss of his teenage son.

Sixteen-year-old Nicholas Oliver Jr., a student at CV Bethel Senior High School, was one of 10 people killed when a Flamingo Air aircraft crashed shortly before landing on July 10. For the quiet, kind, mannerly teen with a gift for playing drums, the trip was supposed to be his first chance to experience Andros’ famous regatta festival, where he was set to reunite with his mother, sister and extended family members who had gathered for the event.

It was Nicholas’ father, Nicholas Oliver Sr., a mechanic originally from Andros, who paid the $120 airfare to make his son’s dream trip a reality. The pair had originally planned to travel to the island together by boat the day after Nicholas originally wanted to leave, but the teenager was eager to arrive early so he would not miss any of the regatta weekend’s festivities. Wanting nothing more than to see his son happy, Oliver Sr. paid for the short 15-minute flight from New Providence, while he planned to follow by boat the next day. That meeting would never happen.

Within hours of handing over the cash to a Flamingo Air representative Oliver Sr. described as appearing to be a pilot, the grieving father found himself standing at the edge of the crash site, staring at smoldering wreckage and brush still burning where his son lost his life.

In an interview with the Tribune, Oliver Sr. choked back tears as he described the crippling pain of his loss, tormented by the thought that the money he spent to give his son a happy experience had instead put him on the doomed flight. “I give him my $120 to kill my son,” he cried. “In the space of couple minutes you gone and take my money and gone kill my son, bro. Kill my baby.”

Compounding the family’s agony in the chaotic hours after the crash was a confusing error: Oliver Sr. said he watched a Flamingo Air employee write his son’s name on the passenger list, but Nicholas’ name did not appear on the initial official passenger manifest shared with the public. The uncertainty left relatives scrambling for answers as they waited to confirm Nicholas’ fate, extending the family’s suffering.

Oliver Sr., whose work as a mechanic takes him across the Bahamas’ Family Islands, makes a point to spend as much time with his son as possible whenever he is in New Providence, where Nicholas lived with his mother, who relocated there from Abaco after Hurricane Dorian destroyed her home. Today, he is haunted by the images he saw at the crash site that he cannot erase, even when he closes his eyes. “I can’t sleep,” he said, weeping. “I seeing all the bush on fire in my flashes.” A man who does not normally drink alcohol, he said he has even considered turning to rum to quiet his racing mind long enough to rest. “I was there, I see him burn,” he said tearfully. “They burn him up.”

As investigations into the crash continue, the tragedy stands as a devastating reminder of how a brief, routine trip meant for celebration can turn into irreversible loss in a matter of minutes, leaving a grieving family to pick up the pieces of a future that will never be the same.

On an Independence Day that began with a spiritual deliverance service at Nassau’s Metropolitan Baptist Church, Bishop Elton Major’s life was forever altered when his congregation gathered outside his office with devastating news. A small passenger plane had crashed near San Andros Airport in North Andros, Bahamas, and the bishop’s adopted son, 34-year-old Melvin Henfield — a beloved musician and ordained minister known across the entertainment industry as DJ Fresh — was believed to be on board.

Bishop Major immediately tried to reach Henfield, who he had raised from the age of 13 after the young boy’s mother entrusted him to the bishop’s care. When there was no answer, a wave of dread washed over him; even during performances or busy work meetings, Henfield always made time to send a quick message promising to return the call. Knowing Henfield often traveled to Andros for gigs with his brother Ken, Bishop Major reached out to him next, holding out hope that his son had already arrived at his destination safely.

For a brief window, that hope held. Initial speculation suggested one person on the Flamingo Air aircraft had survived the crash, lifting the family’s spirits only to dash them moments later. When Ken finally called to confirm the worst — “We lose Melvin” — Bishop Major was left so numb with shock that he injured his foot and did not even notice he was bleeding until after the fact. “That’s how numb I was. I still have a problem coping with that,” he told reporters. “It don’t feel real to me, but it’ll never be the same.”

For Bishop Major, the crash was not just the loss of a well-known local public figure. It was the loss of the son he had fed, educated, and guided into adulthood, teaching him life’s small but critical lessons: how to tie a necktie, how to drive, how to weigh major life decisions. Henfield never knew his biological father, but he fully integrated into the Major family, becoming a beloved son and brother to the bishop’s biological children. “To meet him, to know him, is to love him,” Bishop Major said of his son. “Kind, caring, very compassionate, trusting. If he tell you something, he can do it. Might not do it right away, but he gonna get it done.” Henfield’s mother passed away five years ago, leaving the bishop as his closest surviving family member.

Christal “Peachy” Mackey, owner of Nassau’s women-only Peach Fit Studios and one of Henfield’s closest friends, shared her own story of grief and shattered hope in the hours after the crash. The pair had forged an unbreakable bond over two years, bound by shared loss: Mackey had lost her father years earlier, while Henfield had lost his mother, turning Mother’s Day and Father’s Day into quiet occasions for mutual mourning. When Mackey was forced to jump from her moving car after it caught fire a few months prior, Henfield stayed by her bedside every day throughout her recovery, a reflection of the unconditional loyalty that defined their relationship.

Like Henfield, Mackey shared a deep fear of flying, especially on small propeller aircraft common for inter-island travel in the Bahamas. They established a quiet ritual before any flight: they would pray together before departure, and check in immediately after landing to confirm they were safe. The day of the crash, Henfield called her from the airport as he prepared to board. “I’m about to board, make sure pray and I’ll call you as soon as I reach, but it shouldn’t be long because it’s just a 15 minute flight,” he told her. The call never came.

When Mackey realized her earlier message to Henfield had not gone through and news broke of the crash, panic quickly set in. At first she brushed off the worry, knowing his entertainment work often kept him busy for hours, but as details of the crash spread, she became physically ill with anxiety, pulling off the road to wait for news at her sister’s business. Initial reports suggested one survivor, and for a few moments, Mackey allowed herself to hope it was Henfield. She began planning to nurse him through recovery, just as he had done for her after her car fire. “I never been so excited to just cater to someone,” she said. “They say he has some burns, but what is burns to me? Absolutely nothing.” But that hope was short-lived; minutes later, she overheard her sister confirming Henfield had not survived, and her grief came flooding back.

Mackey recalled a prior incident that underscored just how intense Henfield’s fear of flying was: on an earlier Bahamasair flight, he demanded the plane be evacuated after hearing reports of pre-departure mechanical issues, refusing to stay on board even when crew told him opening the door would require hours of delays and regulatory paperwork. The entire plane was eventually evacuated, just as he demanded. “We have some people that do not like plane, and he didn’t,” she said. “He did not like plane at all.” Still, she finds small comfort in knowing he prayed before boarding the fateful flight, just as their ritual required. Henfield, she remembered, was an exceptional father, a loyal friend, a man of deep faith, and a presence that could light up any room he entered.

Henfield was one of 10 people who lost their lives in the Independence Day crash near San Andros Airport, a tragedy that has left the Bahamas’ tight-knit entertainment and faith communities grappling with the loss of one of their most beloved members.

For seven months, the Rolle family had counted down the days to Macaro Rolle’s long-awaited return home to Andros. The 24-year-old certified lifeguard, who worked at the remote Ocean Cay resort, had navigated a multi-legged journey – a boat ride to Bimini, a connecting flight to New Providence, and a final charter flight on Flamingo Air bound for San Andros Airport – to get back to the loved ones he had not seen in half a year. His father waited at the airport arrivals gate to greet him; what unfolded on Friday would instead leave the family shattered by a preventable loss, they say.

Anthony Rolle, Macaro’s brother, was working at a location opposite the airport when a resident from their Nicholls Town community ran to deliver the devastating news: a small plane had crashed just off the runway. A second aircraft that had been trailing the Flamingo Air flight confirmed the passenger list, and within minutes, Anthony, their father, and other family members launched a desperate search for the wreckage.

Thick black smoke billowing from the crash site near the end of the runway was visible from the family’s starting point, but blocked rural roads cut off direct access. The delay would cost Macaro his life, his family says. As they fought to clear a path toward the wreckage, the injured young man managed to place a desperate phone call to his relatives from the charred aircraft.

In that final, heart-wrenching call, Macaro sounded initially strong, pleading for his family to reach him quickly. “Daddy, Daddy, please hurry up, come for me, Daddy. Y’all hurry up, come,” he told them, according to Anthony. He stayed on the line, describing the terrifying final moments of the flight – telling his family the aircraft had begun shaking violently and uncontrollably before impacting the ground – right up until the family could see the wreckage. When Anthony called out to him that they had arrived, the line went abruptly dead.

By the time the family fought through blocked roads and reached Macaro, roughly two hours after the crash, he could barely respond. When Anthony called his name, the only reply was a faint, almost inaudible hum. Macaro had sustained catastrophic full-body burns in the crash: all his clothing had burned away, and his skin was badly damaged from head to toe.

The family carried Macaro out of the brush in his father’s pickup truck and rushed him to the local clinic, where the small on-island medical team did everything they could to stabilize him. But the remote island lacked the specialized burn care Macaro needed, requiring an air ambulance to evacuate him to a larger facility in North Andros. For another two hours, the family waited for the emergency aircraft to arrive.

Macaro’s fight ended roughly 20 minutes before the air ambulance touched down. “They land after he already died,” Anthony said. The family believes that if emergency response had been faster, and if on-island medical access had been more robust, their brother would still be alive today. “The doctor tried all he could,” Anthony noted, but limited resources on Andros could not overcome the long delays in reaching care.

The tragedy has been compounded by the quiet plans Macaro had made for this trip: he had been building his own three-bedroom home on Andros, waiting for contractors to finish installing windows and doors ahead of his move-in. He never got the chance to step across the threshold of the home he built.

Remembered by his family as a warm, loving man deeply devoted to his faith, Macaro wove prayer into every small part of his daily routine. “Before Macaro eat or drink or answer his phone or leave outside, he have to pray before he do that,” Anthony said. “So if you can’t wait until he finish praying, you could leave him.” The family says they have no doubt that he said a prayer before boarding the flight that would take him home for the final time. Now, their once-joyful homecoming preparations have turned into funeral arrangements, leaving their parents distraught and the entire family grieving a life cut tragically short.

For 27-year-old Mateo Winder, the ritual of checking in with his mother after every trip was as steady as the beat of a drum he played. It was a family tradition he had followed for years: send a message when he departed, and follow up with a call once he landed safely. On that fateful Friday, that simple routine became the final goodbye.

When Winder boarded a Flamingo Air small charter plane bound for North Andros, alongside other members of the local group Da Pond Band, his last text to his mother Ronella Hinsey was just one word: “Leaving.” Today, that single message is all she has left of her son, one of 10 people killed when the aircraft crashed shortly before landing at San Andros Airport. The band had been traveling to the island to perform at a scheduled regatta event.

Hinsey, a police inspector stationed in Abaco for work, first got the chilling hint of disaster when her mother called with early reports of the crash. Immediately, she reached out to Winder via WhatsApp, begging him to confirm he had landed unharmed. The message never went through. What followed was hours of agonizing, frantic searching for answers, as she called every authority, relative and contact she could think of to untangle what had happened.

For a brief, torturous moment, Hinsey allowed herself to hope. An aviation official who checked the passenger list told her Winder’s name did not appear on the manifest. “Okay, Lord, he’s not on it,” she remembered thinking, relief flooding her. That hope crumbled quickly into devastating dread, as calls went unanswered and contacts near the crash site avoided sharing the truth. When her brother, who had traveled to the crash site at her request, stopped picking up her calls, Hinsey knew. She had lost her son.

In the days since the crash, the grieving mother — who also serves as a gospel minister — has opened up about the quiet premonition that haunted her all week before the accident. “All that week, I just kept hearing or seeing something happening to my son and him being hurt, and he actually died,” she said. “I started praying and cancelling what I saw, and pleading the blood of Jesus over him and reading God’s word that he should not die but live to declare the works of the Lord.”

Even in her overwhelming grief, Hinsey says she has not questioned her faith. “I didn’t ask the Lord why, because I don’t want to question God, because He knows why everything happens,” she said. “Human understanding, we won’t understand it.” Instead, she has prayed that her son’s death will not be meaningless. “I told the Lord, if that is your will, you know everything before it happens. And I said, if that is your will, then so be it. But I want my son’s death, I want him to get glory out of it. I don’t want him to die in vain.”

Winder, who never married and had no children, built his entire life around three pillars: his faith, his family, and his music. A musical prodigy from toddlerhood, he began “playing” at two and a half years old, beating rhythms on his mother’s hairbrush and comb at the foot of her bed. By adulthood, he was a multi-instrumental talent, skilled on drums, keyboard, guitar, bass, and saxophone, and a gifted vocalist to boot. He performed regularly with both Da Pond Band and the Grammy Award-winning Baha Men, and ran his own successful business renting musical and entertainment equipment across New Providence.

Isaiah Taylor, leader of the Baha Men, called Winder like a son to him, recalling that the young musician had just joined the group for a performance in Milwaukee as their keyboard player shortly before the crash. “This is absolutely a big blow,” Taylor said. “It’s a big, big, big blow to the industry.”

In the wake of the tragedy, Taylor is issuing a urgent warning to fellow musicians who travel to small island events for performances: prioritize safety over a quick paycheck. “I will warn all of these musicians: do not be comfortable to jump on these charters to go to regatta to make a couple of dollars. Safety comes first. Make sure know what you’re flying, who you’re flying with,” he urged. Taylor added that he has avoided flying on small charters since a terrifying trip in the 1980s, and warned performers to consider the weight of their gear when boarding small aircraft. “If you are doing it, don’t put no kind of equipment on the plane, the little plane that you’re flying on. Because every piece of equipment that you would put on that plane also carries weight, and the plane can only lift with so much weight.”

To date, Bahamian authorities have not released any information on the cause of the crash, nor have they indicated that excess load played a role in the disaster. For Hinsey, Winder was far more than a talented musician — he was a warm, loving light who could turn anyone’s bad day around with a joke and a smile. “He was always smiling and if anybody had a bad day, he would come there and he would make you laugh,” she said.

For years, the pre-trip check-in was a guarantee: Winder would leave, arrive, and call home. This time, the “Leaving” message came. The return call never will.