Daniel Wong is arrested at work in front of his colleagues at Boston Pizza on April 26, 2011. He is charged with first-degree murder, conspiracy to commit murder, and attempted murder. This call between the same unknown male and Lenford Crawford occurs immediately after Daniel’s arrest.
UM: Yo.
L: Yo what’s going on?
UM: Chillin man chillin. How’s everything on your end right now?
L: Everything’s good, hows everything on your end?
UM: Shit, OK so the, you know the kid right? The boys came for him today at work.
L: And took him?
UM: Yea, they’re placing him under the same thing they got her under, conspiracy.
L: Wow, that’s ridiculous.
UM: I don’t know how that came into play but I just heard word the boys just came in didn’t tell nobody where they were taking him.
L: Wow, you gotta be kidding me.
UM: But you’re clear right?
L: Yea, that’s just messed up though.
UM: Fuck I don’t know what’s going man, on the real on the real.
The unknown male in the call soon becomes central to the police investigation after Courtice notices that Lenford also called him two hours after Bich’s murder. It is soon discovered that this man also acted as a bridge between Lenford and Daniel. When police eventually call this number, they speak to a man by the name of Jeffrey Fu.
Fu walks into the police station on May 1, 2011. During a five-hour interview with Detective MacDonald, there is plenty of back and forth, but Jeffrey eventually comes clean. He is a close friend of Daniel’s from his paintballing days, and a drug associate of both Daniel and Lenford. He says although he can’t remember the exact day, at one point (around November 8) he got a call from Lenford saying, “Tell the kid everything’s okay.” He later relayed that message to “the kid” — Daniel. Neither man ever asked him to relay messages before that night and never after.
It is at this point police know that anything more out of Jeffrey’s mouth can implicate him in a first-degree murder investigation. Before that can occur, police have to caution him as a suspect. Detective Courtice calls the Crown immediately, wondering whether a caution is necessary. “No,” is the response, “we’ll use him as a witness.” And so, just as with Andrew and Ric, Crown attorneys decide Jeffrey will be just right to strengthen their case against Daniel and Lenford.
When Jeffrey is finally told the messages he was passing back and forth between the men is in relation to the murder of Bich Pan — the mother of his good friend Daniel’s ex-girlfriend that’s all over the news — his face loses all expression and goes “completely white,” one investigator later says. The story Jeffrey tells police matches Lenford’s phone records. Jeffrey admits to police that at some point after the murder, some men came to Ajax to collect a debt from Daniel that was still owed by Jennifer Pan. Daniel told Jeffrey at the time that one of the men had a gun and had threatened him. Jeffrey says he was paid a visit by Lenford soon after Daniel was threatened, at which point Daniel asked him to front Lenford some weed in order to take care of “Roy’s Boys.”
Investigators later discover that one of Eric’s phones was also in Ajax on November 23, and that he had a girlfriend in London. When Daniel’s and Eric’s phones are cross-referenced, police find evidence that the pair were working together in the drug trade at certain points, but might not have always gotten along. Months prior to the murder, in July 2010, Eric scolds Daniel in a series of texts for not delivering the product fast enough: I fucking told you that if he don’t have it, I’m not going, he texted. You’re slowing me down and never ready when I am, read the next one. Eric finishes the string of communications by expressing his displeasure with the price and quality of the marijuana: I’m not paying sixteen no more and make sure it’s good.
Prosecutors later surmise that the man with the gun doing the threatening — one of Roy’s Boys — is likely Eric demanding money for the hit, considering Jennifer was arrested and was in no position to pony up. When Lenford drove to London, prosecutors later charge, he was likely delivering the fronted weed to Eric, who was resting with his girlfriend.
Lenford is arrested on May 4 as he smokes a joint in his girlfriend’s Brampton driveway. He is charged with first-degree murder and attempted murder. Although police end the final press release with the phrase “Police expect to make more arrests,” no further charges are laid in the case.
Now that the arrests have been made and charges laid, the Crown and police have to start building their case against the accused. This process will involve countless hours of work in the months leading up to the
Detective Bill Courtice (seated), Police Constable Bernadette Cwenar, and another officer discuss the case.
trial, which won’t begin until 2013. Although there is plenty of talk about the potential to charge others in the crime or even to present the evidence against them in court (much of which surrounds one man in particular), prosecutors decide against it. This will mean that at least one man in the house that night, possibly the triggerman, remains unidentified in this case. Nonetheless, one veteran criminal lawyer involved in the case later says the detectives produced by far the most sophisticated telephone analysis evidence he’s ever witnessed, scanning more than a million pieces of mobile phone data. He further questions whether other police forces might have finalized their investigation after charging Jennifer and Daniel and not worked so diligently to identify “the other players.”
12
All Eyes on Newmarket
By the time the trial begins, two Crown attorneys, Jennifer Halajian and Michelle Rumble, have worked on the Jennifer Pan case off and on for three gruelling years. Poring over the raw telephone transcripts and data from 640,000 bits of phone communications to try to string together a narrative that spans more than a year — from around June 2010, when the Crown claimed Jennifer started plotting, until May 4, 2011, when the last of the five men, Lenford Crawford, was arrested by police.
Just one peek at the compiled phone records, including reams of digits populating endless spreadsheets, is a daunting venture, let alone studying raw records in order to engineer a successful murder case. Using the legitimate cellphones and burner phones of the accused men, along with their girlfriends’ cellphones, the Crown attorneys string together a storyline from beginning to end, often from minute to minute. But it isn’t just cellphones that lawyers are forced to study; there are also hundreds of hours of videotaped police interviews and wiretaps that require analysis.
Although the attorneys and police are burdened with so many anonymous phone and text messages, luck is certainly on their side at times. The police, more specifically York police cellular phone forensic expert Detective Bruce Downey, pulls off a significant feat by capturing hundreds of explicit texts that were sent or received on Jennifer’s iPhone in the days leading up to the murder. It remains an open question whether the alleged mastermind, Jennifer Pan, figured that by disposing of her SIM card the messages would be lost forever. The texts become some of the most pivotal pieces of evidence in the trial, especially with respect to Jennifer, Daniel, and Lenford. Had Jennifer deleted those texts, they would have been gone forever. For example, one message from Jennifer to Daniel says: Call it off with Homeboy. To which Daniel responds: You said you wanted this.
The iPhone, which the Crown refers to as the “secret murder phone,” contains the trial’s most damning phone numbers, many of which aren’t found on Jennifer’s Rogers phone — those belonging to David Mylvaganam, Daniel Wong, Lenford Crawford, Demetrius Mables, and Andrew Montemayor (Andrew also spoke with Jennifer on the Rogers phone, but not with the same damning context). Cell towers garner other vital bits of data, especially in relation to the movements of David. The information also lands Eric Carty in trouble, irrespective of his knowledge of cellphones and how they are used during investigations, and despite the fa
ct that he stopped using his phone hours before the murder, instead using devices owned by his girlfriends and by David.
This evidence proves pivotal in the Crown’s case against the five suspects on trial.
The Newmarket Courthouse, located forty-five minutes north of Toronto, is selected as the site for the trial, despite some obvious drawbacks — the antiquated audio/video technology and poor acoustics will cause major delays in the proceedings and are often the subject of scorn by the sitting judge, Justice Cary Boswell. The trial is expected to last five months.
But before it begins, some 2,100 potential jurors have to be interviewed. Most claim they can’t sit on a trial for the length of time it is projected to take, while others are too well acquainted with the facts of the case to be considered. With six lawyers involved, many of those interviewed are challenged and/or excused, and the process takes weeks. Paul Cooper, Jennifer’s lawyer, requests that the court raise the amount of money paid out to ensure a more diverse group of people are able to sit on the jury, especially because none of the defendants in the case are white. Currently, rules state that jurors aren’t paid if they sit for fewer than ten days. From days eleven to forty-nine, they receive $40 a day, and from day fifty onward they receive $100 per day. With Ontario’s minimum wage set at about $11 an hour at the time, many potential jurors would earn more money at an entry-level job. Cooper fails in his attempt to raise the payout, and in the end only two jurors are from visible minority groups.
On the first day of the trial, there is a distinct buzz among the reporters. It has been three-and-a-half years since the murder of Jennifer’s mother and the attempted murder of her father, and the media has been anticipating the day when this case finally comes to trial. It doesn’t take long for the public — accustomed to waiting years for fascinating cases to reach the courts — to become re-immersed in the drama that is about to unfold.
The Newmarket Courthouse, though quite a large building, gives off the distinct feel of a small-town court, so when trial day arrives, the police at the front door running everyone through metal detectors and checking bags, knowingly converse with reporters about the case, understanding exactly why the court is such a popular destination that particular morning. It remains that way for the next three hundred days.
But it isn’t just mainstream media outlets that are interested in the trial; there are more than a handful of reporters from the local Chinese, Filipino, and Vietnamese publications and television stations who show up each day. Not to mention interested members of the public who faithfully attend, including one young woman who appears to have a crush on at least one of the defendants. The court gallery also contains staff from the big dailies, local reporters, and even the odd courtroom sketch artist. Something else that is rarely seen, especially this far north of Toronto, is a pair of American reporters from a couple of the largest networks in the United States, who have made the trip up from New York City to sit in on the proceedings. Unlike the United States, under Canadian law, cameras and videos are forbidden inside the court’s precinct, meaning the only images coming out of the courtroom are the odd sketch portrait of Jennifer or Hann, and the only time the lawyers will speak on camera is during the post-trial press conference outside the front doors of the building.
As a reporter, you know it’s a big criminal trial when two particular journalists make an appearance: the Toronto Star’s Rosie DiManno and the National Post’s Christie Blatchford. Both women write in a unique style at odds with standard court reporters, injecting flowery adjectives and cutting opinions about the proceedings and testimony into their articles — something “ordinary journalists” are forbidden from doing. “All this horror — a mother shot in the head, her final words a plea that her daughter be spared; a father shot through the eye who miraculously survived his grievous wounds — for the obsessive love of a man who did not love her back,” writes DiManno in one day’s copy. “What was Jennifer Pan envisioning? That maybe murder wound bind them together forever, be their troth of romantic reconciliation? In their wake lies ruin … After emerging from a coma, it was his hospital bed account to police of that violent night at the family’s Markham home that turned the tide of the investigation, transforming his daughter from a deeply pitied survivor — how tearfully she’d mourned at her mother’s funeral, ravaged face captured by media cameras — to unimaginably wicked murderer.”
It isn’t just the gallery that is packed; beyond the bar is also crowded, with eight lawyers in all, including three for the Crown, who are accompanied by Assistant Crown Attorney Rob Scott and a number of interns and assistants, all of whom spend countless hours working diligently on their clients’ files. The defence team includes Paul Cooper (representing Jennifer Pan), Edward Sapiano (Eric Carty), Peter Bawden (David Mylvaganam), Darren Sederoff (Lenford Crawford), and Laurence Cohen (Daniel Wong).
After the lawyers take their seats, the ragtag bunch of inmates shuffles into the courtroom — hands cuffed in the front, ankles shackled — and is led to the five-seat prisoner box located at the back just in front of the bar, which sections off the proceedings from the audience. Each seat in the box is separated by a wood-and-glass divider. At the beginning of the trial the lawyers ask for the defendants’ ankle and wrist shackles to be removed prior to the jury entering so as to avoid the negative bias this might evoke.
Justice Boswell, a soft-spoken, innately patient and relaxed-looking man with a certain “average guy” appeal, takes his seat at the head of the court, where he will be flanked by the twelve jurors who will enter on his direction — four men and eight women — as the trial of the year finally gets under way.
Tall and lanky Lenford Crawford sits on the end, shoulders hunched, and as always, appearing calm. Next to him is a bespectacled Daniel Wong, hair cut short and still with a visible paunch. Eric Carty is next, now heavier-set than he appeared in his teenage mug shot. He has shed his cornrows and beard and his face is lightly stubbled, his head shaved. Next to him is David Mylvaganam, who has tamed the wild mane of hair he had in
(Top row) David Mylvaganam. Eric Carty.
(Bottom row) Lenford Crawford. Daniel Wong.
the first picture released to the media. His flowing locks are now contained in a ponytail at the back of his head. And finally, Jennifer Pan. She is now twenty-seven and looks much older than the childlike young woman who spoke with investigators during those initial days following the murder. Her rounded features have faded and her bone structure has become more visible. She is as tall and slender as ever, and her hair is longer (she keeps it in braids or neatly positioned ponytails throughout the trial). Unlike the others, who seem relaxed and casually chat to one another and smile, the prospects that lie before her appear to weigh heavily on Jennifer’s mind.
The accused, other than those who have family members in the room, disregard the packed courtroom. Although this will change as the trial wears on, they seem blithely unaware of the severity of the situation, blind to the strength of the Crown’s case. Presumably, they are optimistic about their chances for acquittal.
Daniel’s mother, father, and brother are there that first day, Lenford’s parents attend on occasion, but the fact that they have full-time jobs understandably limits their availability. The only people to show up for Jennifer, much later in the trial, are a few former colleagues from East Side Mario’s, frankly still amazed that the quiet Jennifer can be involved in such a monstrous plot.
When the case finally begins, it does so in dramatic fashion. The crackle of the speakers signifies the start of the proceedings, the Crown having chosen to open with the audiotape of Jennifer’s panicked 911 call. The courtroom grows perfectly still, everyone straining to hear as the importance of what they are listening to quickly dawns on them simultaneously. Suddenly, Hann’s horrific groaning projects from the speakers. “I don’t know what’s happening. I’m tied upstairs. I think my dad went outside. He’s screaming,” comes a harried-s
ounding female voice. “My hands are tied, but I had my cellphone in my pocket. Please, can you hurry up! I can hear my father screaming. I don’t know what’s going on. He made an ahhhhh sound and he ran outside. Can you stay with me?” The young woman then starts to weep.
“Take a deep breath, okay?” comes the soothing voice of the operator. “We have lots of help on the way.”
“I’m wiggling loose, but I’m scared to go anywhere.… They didn’t hurt me. They had a gun to my back, but they took my parents downstairs and I heard pops. All they said was: ‘You are not co-operating.’”
“Did they sound like gunshots?” the operator asks.
“I don’t know,” Jennifer replies. “I just heard pops.”
The recording ends with an ominous introduction to the woman who will take centre stage for the next ten months in the lives of many present in the courtroom that morning.
“What’s your name?” the operator asks.
“My name is Jennifer.”
13
Stranger Than Fiction
For many in the courtroom, the 911 recording evokes a lot of emotion. Later, one witness tells me there were plenty of tears after the playing of the “soul-gripping” tape. “We weren’t expecting it to start when it did. It was very emotional, so some people, they weren’t mentally prepared. It was a great opening from the Crown’s perspective, but some people had issues [with it]. It hit them really hard. There were tears and shock, hearing [Hann] screaming in the background. That affected people quite profoundly.”
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