A Daughter's Deadly Deception

by Jeremy Grimaldi

  Eric and his new lawyer, Craig Bottomly, worked out a compromise with Crown attorneys Michelle Rumble and Jennifer Halajian. In return for Eric’s admissions, he will be sentenced to eighteen years in prison to be served alongside the twenty-five years he is already serving for the murder of Kirk Matthews. In return for the significantly reduced prison sentence, Eric agrees to admit to certain aspects of the murder of Jennifer’s mother. Although the charge he admits to is conspiracy to commit murder, one investigator says his admissions are so substantial that he could have just as easily confessed to first-degree murder.

  In the first trial, the Crown repeatedly reminded the court that the threshold for first-degree murder is not as high as one might suspect. Rumble highlighted this in the first trial as she addressed the jury in her closing: “If someone knowingly does something to help plan a murder, he is guilty of first-degree murder. You don’t have to decide whether David [or] Eric pulled the trigger. They, along with Jennifer, Lenford, and Daniel, all helped carry out the plan.” On this day those words ring hollow.

  In the agreed statement of facts, Eric concedes that he was first contacted by Lenford in the early hours of October 27 when Lenford explained Jennifer’s plan to him. It was at this point he agreed to help. His role was to recruit the people to enter the home, provide a vehicle, and show up at the Pan home in Markham on the night of the murder. Later that same day he started making inquiries about a rental car. The murder might have gone ahead two days later, on October 29, but one of the associates Eric planned to bring on board was busy that evening. Eric also failed to score the rental car. Lenford and Eric continued to plan on Halloween. Eric says that Lenford drove to Markham (as the tower records indicate) with Daniel, while he continued to try to find an accomplice. While Lenford and Daniel chatted on the phone outside the Pan residence that night, Eric managed to contract David for the murder, admitting that the “10 stacks” and “5 each ting” text was a discussion about payment. David would get $5,000 for each body and agreed to the spoken contract.

  The new date set for the murders was November 3. Eric demanded that $2,000 in cash be handed over at the Pan house upon arrival. The fact that Eric couldn’t find enough gas money to attend became a non-issue when Jennifer cancelled the plan. Two days later the tools to carry out the crime were still up in the air because David told Eric he was still searching for what Eric agreed was a “cheap, new firearm.” Eric and Lenford continued to discuss the plan on November 8 and eventually came to an agreement — the murder would take place that night. Eric also admits to bringing their mutual friend, Demetrius Mables, on board to call Jennifer on their behalf that evening. Loading David “and at least” one other man into a car, Eric drove from Rexdale to Markham. At 9:34 p.m., as they made their way to Markham, Eric says he called Jennifer and asked her to make sure the door was unlocked. A half-hour later, Eric parked the car. Less than ten minutes later, three men, each armed with a gun, entered the Pan home. Fifteen minutes after that, they left. This is all Eric will admit to. There is no confession about being inside Jennifer’s home on November 8.

  Compared to the packed house that heard the verdict against Jennifer and the others, the court this time seems barren, with only a few people to witness Eric’s conviction and sentencing. The young man appears calm as he stands beside his lawyer. His mother, several of his six siblings, and a slew of young women are also in attendance. Justice Michelle Fuerst asks Eric to stand, and then reads out his sentence for his part in the murder of Bich-Ha Pan and the attempted murder of Hann Pan. Eric is sentenced to eighteen years and won’t be eligible to apply for parole until he has served half that time.

  Justice Fuerst grants Eric a transfer to a prison in Nova Scotia or British Columbia to serve out the rest of his sentence after he requests to be separated from the numerous “negative influences” in his life that he has built up over his thirty-four years. One seasoned investigator says this can be a common request in Canadian courts, explaining that it’s “easier time” in those provinces. Eric’s mother is distraught, and seeks consolation from family and friends.

  In her decision, Justice Fuerst calls the crime the “epitome of evil.”

  20

  A New Country, a New Life

  Huei Hann Pan was born, and grew up, in Vietnam during a time of great turmoil. When he was a young man, at the end of the 1970s, the vicious decade-long war with the United States had left his nation devastated and millions of his countrymen’s dreams in tatters. He had attended college for tool and die and diesel mechanics, and four years after the fall of Saigon, at a time when chaos and panic still ruled the streets, Huei Hann Pan left for Canada where he was admitted as a political refugee along with some fifty thousand other Vietnamese and Asian asylum-seekers who arrived during 1979–80. Hann endured a harrowing journey as part of a group historically known as “Boat People.” The ships were sometimes at sea for months, and the unfortunate passengers faced attacks from pirates, disease, and starvation. The boats held people from a wide variety of social classes, including both peasants from the countryside and more educated urban dwellers.

  At the age of twenty-six, Hann arrived with virtually no knowledge of the English language and an equal amount of money in his pocket. He and his compatriots landed on Canadian shores just as the nation was experiencing an economic downturn of significant proportions. Oil was up in price, and the country was struggling with slow growth, while unemployment steadily rose. The influx of Vietnamese was noticeable in a nation of twenty-four million people, which up to that point contained fewer than four hundred thousand people of Asian descent. Many of Hann’s fellow refugees chose to settle in the largely French-speaking city of Montreal, a good fit, many thought, considering Vietnam’s history as a French colony. Hann, never one to back down from a challenge, instead ventured to Toronto. When he and many of his fellow refugees arrived in the city, many chose to settle in the former municipality of Scarborough where many who belonged to the city’s small Asian population already hung their hats. In 1971, the population of Scarborough was about 354,000, of which 39,820 were immigrants (by 2011, 70 percent of residents here were immigrants — 80 percent from Asia).

  After meeting only briefly back home, Bich-Ha Luong, who arrived in Canada with her father and other family members, became reacquainted with Hann. The pair courted, married, and moved in together. Their meagre salaries delivered them to the Malvern neighbourhood, one of the roughest parts of Toronto’s most challenged communities. Starting out was difficult as the hard-working pair set about establishing themselves. Thankfully, they weren’t alone, with thousands of their fellow countrymen also determined to start fresh, shed their war-torn country’s strict class system, and build their families into something their parents hadn’t dreamed possible. Like thousands of immigrants and refugees before them, they were in the new world, the land of opportunity, where social mobility depended on more than just your name or background.

  In this new world, money is the common currency that acts as more than wealth, and buys more than material goods. It can also deliver the respectability and status many immigrants crave. Back home, that sort of social mobility was rarely attainable. Viewing their own futures as forgone by that point in their lives, Hann and Bich made their main goal the building of a future for their children. Armed with the tools acquired during their class-conscious upbringing, they were able to properly set about bettering the family’s lot. For countless refugees, the goal was simple: to join the middle class. Canada, unguided by the constricting caste system from back home, was just the place to do that. Living within a foreign culture and a language they didn’t know, surrounded by prejudices, Hann and Bich put their noses to the grindstone.

  While other countries have traditionally divided social classes on the basis of money, power, authority, inheritance, and sometimes skin colour, the situation in Vietnam, a country bordered by China in the north and Cambodia and Laos in the west, was diffe
rent. The centuries-old system that divvied up classes was one often based on education. If you weren’t one of the chosen few, learning was the currency that could provide upward mobility to anyone with the right amount of ambition. As in China, where the Pans traced much of their lineage, a strict hierarchy ruled in Vietnam. Other than the emperor and royal family, classes tended to be based on knowledge and accreditation, which equalled power. Outside royalty, it was the intellectuals and the business class who resided atop the spectrum, with the farmers and manual workers in the middle and artisans and the labourers at the bottom. But wars and revolutions helped create a new and reinvented middle class, one where success could be achieved through sheer effort.

  Vietnam was heavily influenced by Chinese culture and religion, and was ruled by Confucian norms. This was embedded in the very fabric of society. The ancient philosophy could be described through five essential and authoritative relationships: the subordination of subject to ruler, father to son, wife to husband, younger brother to elder brother, and mutual respect among friends. Authoritarianism remained the cornerstone of such hierarchies. As in many traditional societies, chauvinism was common, and families often preferred to have sons over daughters.

  To reinforce just how important education was in the society, it is vital to understand how difficult it was to join the admired ruling classes of such countries. A civil service examination could be attempted in which the applicant was tested on his knowledge of Chinese classical literature and philosophy. If candidates succeeded in becoming accredited as scholars, they were then eligible for appointment to the imperial service, which was the most prestigious route to power, status, and wealth possible. In Confucian Asia, the dream of glorious academic achievement delivered untold influence and wealth for an entire family.

  “Villages and towns pooled resources and sent their best and brightest to compete at the imperial court, hoping that one of their own would make it to the centre of power,” writes Andrew Lam, a Vietnamese-American author, in The Huffington Post. “Mandarins were selected and ranked according to their performance in the rigorous examinations, which took place every four years. Vietnam was for a long time a tributary of China and it was governed by mandarins, a meritocracy open to even the lowest peasant if he had the determination and ability to prevail.”

  One of the most famous Chinese sayings about studying is a poem that goes like this: “In the book, there is a lot of food, a house made of gold, and a pretty girl.” The message was clear: education could bring you all you desired in life. However, all this focus on study could have a polarizing affect on society. While it prompted many to work hard in order to achieve success, resulting in plenty of educational enrichment, it could also have damaging results on others. Because there were so few university places available, relentless competition began at school for those ten years old or younger, and could last until students were in the highest levels of their education, leaving very little time for play or social development, sometimes resulting in emotional disorders among young people.

  Frugality ruled Hann’s early life in Canada as he set about raising enough money to secure his family’s future and to buy his first home. He and Bich ended up buying a three-bedroom house on a suburban street, which today is lined with drab homes spilling out goods, including broken bikes on the front yards, unkempt lawns, and numerous cars in the driveways, some long dead. The home still stands near the corner of Sheppard Avenue and Markham Road in the shadow of a 1980s building sometimes locally referred to as the Malvern Penitentiary because of its drab and institutional appearance. Many of the building’s residents consider the term offensive, especially since a number of positive changes have occurred over the past few years. Even in the midst of Toronto’s housing boom, in which detached houses go for more than $1 million, until a few years ago you could still buy a two-bedroom apartment in the building for $80,000.

  An honourable man, with deeply held convictions surrounding dignity, Hann knew his family relied on him. And he was fortunate in his early years, landing work at local car-parts manufacturer Magna International. But it wasn’t only Hann who exerted great effort; Bich worked alongside him for years on the line. They hoped their efforts weren’t in vain; neither wanted their children to have to toil in car-part-manufacturing workshops to make a living. Hann held dreams of his offspring’s success — one would be a doctor and the other would improve on his accreditation as a machinist to become a full-fledged mechanical engineer. Dreams of this sort aren’t only the ideal in Asian countries — where there is a hierarchy of professions — with law, engineering, and medicine at the top — but across the globe. This pressure is particularly high in Asian countries because career choice does not only reflect on the child but also the parents.

  When their daughter arrived on June 17, 1986, the couple agreed on the English name Jennifer. They thought it had a lovely ring to it, and it meant she wouldn’t be encumbered with a full Vietnamese name at an English school. Although he slowly picked up the language through work, Hann never firmly grasped English. At home, the family spoke Vietnamese and Cantonese. Jennifer was raised in this sort of environment — a Chinese-Vietnamese home perched in multicultural Scarborough.

  Bich was the glue that held the family together. Hann’s punishing schedule often left him feeling as though he deserved a rest after work. Bich stepped in to cook meals, wash up, and later pack the children’s lunches. She ensured the children had a family life they could revel in. However, she was no shrinking violet and, like her husband, she could also be strict and uncompromising. Although she didn’t always agree with Hann’s views, it was his opinion that most often won out, following the “father knows best” approach prevalent in so many traditional homes. After a blow-up, it was Bich who quietly knocked on her children’s doors to smooth things out. Hann also used her as an intermediary, knowing his own temper sometimes landed him in emotionally heightened situations. Bich preferred to remain in the home taking care of her family, but she did have a social life, and especially enjoyed dancing.

  Hann was very social and liked to fix things, always wanting to help others with odd jobs. Besides a few close friends, many of his dearest relationships were those within his immediate and extended family circle. His and Bich’s large families, mostly Bich’s, provided the Pans with more than enough company. The Pans spent weekends visiting Bich’s brother’s family, the Luongs, who had a daughter two years younger than Jennifer, named Michelle. When she was younger and still an only child, Jennifer became the closest thing Michelle had to a big sister.

  Jennifer’s father began teaching her from the moment she was conscious of his efforts, and the bright-eyed baby responded gleefully, enjoying her father’s attention. It was from her mother that Jennifer learned emotional intelligence and tenderness. As Jennifer grew older, her father’s attentive nature shifted from a doting daddy into the home’s disciplinarian as he prepared to raise a respectful, obedient, and hard-working daughter. He was strict and rarely let down his guard. In many homes of Asian heritage, the tender emotion the disciplinarian shows is often restrained. When children misbehave, a parent might show deep disappointment; when they achieve, praise can be muted.

  Success was expected in the Pan home. Many first-generation immigrants, especially ones arriving from Asian countries, see praise as an inhibitor, sensing that, once children are complimented, they might feel as though they’ve completed a task and no longer need to put effort in to continue to improve. This, as many see it, can lead to mediocrity. These are but two aspects that make up a centuries-old form of child-rearing only recently dubbed “tiger parenting” by Yale law professor Amy Chua. The term became a buzzword after she released her bestselling and controversial memoir Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother in 2011.

  In her book, Chua describes a tough-love method of child-rearing, one widely practised by parents across the Asian world and beyond, including in many immigrant families in the West. She writ
es about techniques she used with her daughters involving harsh regimens, high expectations, and psychological control, including inducing guilt as punishment for misbehaviour. Some claim this can cause children to feel as though they won’t be loved if they don’t fall in line with their parents’ wishes; however, Chua submits that if done right, these techniques can lead to monumental success. She argues that, parents who prioritize school work above all else and encourage their children to engage in activities — including athletics and cultural pursuits — to win awards, can mould children so that they’re more likely to achieve.

  Chua believes that the love and devotion of parents for their children should be used as a means to an end: a paved path to prosperity. In order to gain acquiescence, those who fail to meet their parents’ expectations can be berated with name-calling and emotional threats such as removal of toys and gifts, and in extreme cases, even birthdays and Christmas. Because of children’s lack of knowledge and experience, choice is removed, giving parents the task of making many, if not all, pivotal decisions for them, both in their daily lives and beyond. However, one must be careful taking Chua’s words too literally, since she writes in an often lighthearted but correspondingly biting style, often mocking her own behaviour. Contending that tiger parenting is practised in different forms throughout the world, she lists a number of activities her two daughters were never allowed to engage in as children. Those include: attending sleepovers and play dates; participating in school plays; watching television or playing computer games; choosing their own extracurricular activities; and getting any grade lower than an A.