At 6:51 p.m. Eric was in Rexdale at his girlfriend Ayan Mohamed’s home, and he was using her phone.
Bich left home to go line dancing. While Jennifer and Adrian sat together watching television in the basement, Jennifer received a phone call. Adrian testified she didn’t say who it was but that she chatted for about one minute. It was Demetrius Mables’s phone calling, and the conversation lasted twenty-eight seconds. The Crown alleged he was passing on information from Eric, who knew better than to relay the messages with his own phone. According to Adrian, Jennifer acted completely normal that night.
“This was act one in the long bloody play that was going to unfold that night,” said Crown prosecutor Michelle Rumble. At 8:32 p.m., Ayan had her phone back and Eric was mobile. Adrian left the Pan house, after which Jennifer and Daniel, both nervous but giddy about the imminent attack, engaged in ridiculous, verging on disturbing, text conversations, when one considers what would occur just a few hours later.
D: What is it munky?
J: *Pokes munkie side*
D: Huh? Watsa rong?
J: *Squishy face* craving attention.
J: Pokepokepoke* runs around with arms flapping around like a chicken.
D: Haha wats up?
J: Chickens go cluck. And munkie say …?
D: Oooo ooo oooo mmmeeee meeee meee!
J: Mesa no sues munkie make meeee sound. Maybe no mmm.
D: Mmeee meee mooo ooo!
J: Munkie no make mmmeee sound silly!
D: Monkies go e e e o o o!
Phone records showed that Eric and David met up around 9:00 p.m. Prior to this, Eric was dealing with an “explosive domestic situation” at home as two of his worlds collided. Two of his stable of girlfriends, it seemed, were on to him. His girlfriend, Megan Johnson, aided by his other friend, Silvia Powell, were texting seventeen-year-old Ayan, who the pair had discovered was sleeping with Eric. At 8:56 p.m. Silvia’s phone, commandeered by Megan apparently, texted Ayan. The two girls’ only connection was Eric. Megan tried to call Ayan, but she didn’t answer, so the pair texted her instead.
AM: Who de fuck is dis?
MJ: What does you man look like?
AM: Dark skin short thick body shape billed niggah y.
MJ: No disrespect but can I ask ur name?
AM: Y?
MJ: Didn’t not know he had a lady how long you been around?
AM: I’m tired a de lies n fakery i’m gone to my bed.
During the drive to Markham, Eric used David’s cell to call both women to try to keep the situation from boiling over. Jennifer spent the rest of her night in her room, chatting to Andrew Montemayor and Edward Pacificador. Although she had been exclusively using her Bell iPhone to call Andrew since July, she used her Rogers phone that night. The reason? She had to keep her Bell line open; after all, she was expecting a call on that line. This call was to take place twenty-six minutes before the murderers burst through her front door. Bich got home at 9:28 p.m., put on her Winnie-the-Pooh pajamas, filled a bucket with warm water, and soaked her feet in front of the television as she watched the Chinese news. Hann was already in bed sleeping.
In her police interview, Jennifer said she crept downstairs to unlock the door, above which hung a picture of Bich and herself, under the pretext of saying good night to her mom. The pair shared a fleeting good night.
Back in the car, Eric wasn’t the only one dealing with domestic issues. David Mylvaganam was in touch with Denise Brown, his ex-girlfriend. The two were in the midst of trying to reconnect after a trial separation following the discovery of David’s infidelities. He was trying to make things up to her and hoped the money he was to earn that night would go a long way to showing her he’d grown up. Much of it was earmarked to be sent to Montreal to take care of the couple’s son. As he and Eric and one other man sped east along the Highway 401 on their way to Markham, the pair constantly passed the phone back and forth, with Eric calling Megan and Ayan and David keeping in touch with Denise. At 9:34 p.m. David’s phone, likely being held by Eric, called Jennifer Pan’s Bell phone.
That call, intended to advise her how close they were, lasted one minute and forty-two seconds. Calls to Megan and Ayan were placed right before and right after. Eric then used David’s phone to call Lenford, letting it ring for exactly sixty-one seconds — a signal to Lenford no doubt that “we’re closing in on the targets.” At 9:42 p.m. David and Denise shared this revealing text conversation:
DM: In a meeting with Kimble. I will text you to call k love.
DB: OK, was that who I heard cussing, tell him I say whatup.
DM: Ya ya u now go to sleep for now.
The pair were in a “meeting” — a.k.a. on their way to “work.”
At 10:02 p.m. the light in the window in Hann’s study was switched on as a late-model Acura drove past Jennifer’s home and turned onto Dodds Gate, a street running north two doors up from 238 Helen Avenue. Two minutes later, David’s phone contacted Jennifer for the last time. Jennifer, who was talking to Edward at the time, hung up on him and said she’d call him back. The call from David’s phone to Jennifer’s lasted three minutes and twenty-three seconds. Is your dad sleeping? Where’s your mom? Is the door open? Are the lights on? Are you ready?” were questions the Crown suggested were asked of Jennifer during that call. There were three men in the car, and three guns, at least one of which was loaded.
At 10:08 p.m., Jennifer called Edward back, betraying nothing of what was about to occur, according to Edward. “Given what we’ve seen of Jennifer Pan … that’s not so surprising,” the Crown later asserted. “She was ready for her plan to be carried out.” Partway through the second call, she interrupted Edward and said she heard something downstairs and that she’d call him back. The time was 10:14 p.m., and the men were now in her home.
Hann Pan’s testimony recounting what happened next was quite literally a homeowner’s, not to mention a father’s, worst nightmare brought to life. Hann was roused from his slumber with a gun in his face held by a man he later all but confirmed was David Mylvaganam. Money was repeatedly demanded, but none was actually sought. Hann managed to catch a glimpse of what he later described as “brown splotches” on the man’s clothing. “There were some dirty markings on the sweater,” he said. “Looked like the ink from a paintball gun. I have seen it previously. One time I drove my daughter and son to a shop that sold it [paintball gear] near Yorkdale Mall. Same kind of dirt as people who went in there to play that game. It was light brown. I did realize it was the marks from the paintball.” (It was the police’s theory that Daniel had stolen the clothing used in the home invasion from one of the paintballing sites he frequented.)
Hann said the man wore a black turtleneck and had a black baseball cap pulled over his eyebrows and the tops of his ears. After managing to stand, the father of two was led from the bedroom without the benefit of his glasses. When they emerged from the bedroom, Hann saw the one thing that was even more terrifying than a man holding a gun to his face. Surveying the hallway before him, he opened his weary eyes wide with dread when he saw two figures in conversation at the opposite end of the second floor, next to his daughter’s bedroom door. One was Jennifer and the other was the man Jennifer later said resembled Eric Carty. Although the glance was only momentary, Hann said the conversation between the pair was familiar and spoken in hushed tones. “I could not hear what was being said because it was being spoken softly,” he said. “It was like a friend, softly.” He said throughout the conversation his daughter wasn’t restrained.
As he descended the staircase, his sobbing wife came into view, her feet still in the bucket of water, a gun held to her neck by another man. Hann’s mind reeled, trying to understand how what he was experiencing could be real. Rather than panic, though, he pushed the rising tide of fear down. “I thought they wanted to rob my house, not kill my wife,” he said. Hann had no idea
of the fate that awaited them.
Once on the couch, Bich asked how their front door had been breached without a sound. Hann had no answer for her. He was then told “Shut up! You talk too much!” by one of the men towering over them, making him seem larger than he was — at least six feet, Hann later estimated. (In reality, all of the home invaders were in and around five feet eight inches.)
“Where is the fucking money?” the third man demanded. When Hann told them he had only $60 but had plenty of goods the man might be interested in, he was called a “liar” as the butt end of the gun descended swiftly onto his skull.
Bich screamed, “Please, don’t hurt my husband!”
When the intruder ordered Bich to turn down the blaring Chinese news, she was too nervous and fumbled with the buttons, so Hann assisted her. Bich was asked how many people were in the house. Although honest, mentioning Jennifer, Bich quickly added that she was sleeping. The invaders called upstairs to their partner to check if the $60 was there and to bring the girl down.
Bich’s trusted daughter was led down the stairs, unhindered by tether or the grip of the man accompanying her. First she walked to the kitchen, illuminated by the light from the fridge. Next she ventured to the dining room table as Hann held his head, blood dripping between his fingers as he cowered in fear next to his wife. Jennifer and her “captor” then stood and spoke quietly for a minute, again too softly for Hann to overhear the exact words, before Hann’s tormentor ordered Jennifer be returned upstairs. As Jennifer left, Bich cried out, “Please, you can hurt us, but please don’t hurt my daughter!”
The reply was cold enough to give any parent the shivers. In court, after attempting to make the assailants response clear a number of times through the interpreter, Hann, fed up with the confusion, finally blurted out in heavily accented English: “Don’t worry. Your daughter is very nice. I won’t hurt her.”
Hann and Bich were then ordered to stand up and were led downstairs into the basement by two of the men. The third ran from the house. Hann and Bich were forced to sit down on the couch, and Hann heard one of the men ask the other: “Should we tie them or tape them? Exit by the front or rear door?”
The reply was succinct and cold: “Shoot and exit via front.” The directness of his command would have raised alarm in Bich as she realized in that moment that she and her husband were as good as dead.
The men threw blankets over each of their heads. Hann didn’t fight back, resigned to his fate, but Bich lost control. “My wife was opposing … she did not want the blanket to cover her head,” he said in court.
The men shot Hann first, pumping two bullets from close range into him. He ended up hunched over, apparently dead. Next, their attention shifted to Bich. Their attempt to place the blanket over her head ultimately failed, and she was likely hysterical as she begged for her life. “Pop, pop!” — Bich’s screams went silent. There was one more shot for good measure. This time the pistol was placed so close to the back of her skull that the entry wound featured a ring around it due to proximity and force. “Pop!” Blood was splattered on the far wall of the basement and possibly on the assailants’ clothing.
Ultimately, it was Hann’s placid acceptance of the men’s order to place the blanket over his head that saved his life, the fabric obscuring the target so that the shots weren’t fatal. Both bodies slumped onto the cold basement floor.
The men then bolted upstairs and out of the house to the waiting car, speeding off into the night at 10:33 p.m.
After they were gone, Jennifer fished her phone out and called 911. While doing so, Hann awakened to a nightmare. “I saw my wife was lying at my feet,” he told the court haltingly. “I shook my wife, and I realized my wife had no movement.” Somehow he made his way upstairs and ran from the house and waited for his neighbour’s garage door to open, frightened the killers were still present as his daughter screamed his name. “I went out of the house,” he said. “I called for help. My neighbour at that time was preparing to go to work. He opened the garage door and saw that I was standing outside. I told him please call 911; my house was robbed, and I was shot.”
Before he was taken away in the ambulance, Hann described the three men to police — two black, one white.
The men in the car gave themselves fourteen minutes to calm down before they carried right on doing what they had been doing prior to the murder. At 10:46 p.m. a call originated from David’s phone when it was in the vicinity of Highway 401. That first call was to the phone of Tim Conte and lasted one minute and eight seconds. Conte’s phone at the time was bouncing off the cell tower near Kik Custom Products where Lenford Crawford worked. The men then drove to Rexdale. At 11:33 p.m. David called his girlfriend, Denise, in Montreal and the pair spoke for four minutes. She later testified that she didn’t detect any signs of anxiety or trouble in David’s voice and that the texts he sent right after were quite loving. That could be because he’d just shared with her the news that he had made a lot of money and would be sending her some of it the next day. Denise said nothing made David happier and prouder than sending money to her to take care of their son.
An hour later, at 11:53 p.m., Lenford called Jeffrey Fu — “Tell the kid everything’s all right,” he told him. At 12:49 a.m. and 1:20 a.m. Demetrius Mables was called by Lenford. Then Eric called Ayan. Next, David responded to Denise with the good news.
DB: Good night, sweet dreams, talk to you in the morning. love you.
DM: Same here always love you, in the morning K mama.
With his portion of the $2,000 booty sitting in his lap, one wonders if David’s reference to something happening “in the morning” was about the money he promised to send Denise during the couple’s conversation about an hour after the murder. His text early the next day seems to make that clear. On November 9, David messaged Denise that he was “going to da Western,” Western Union, that is. Other than the money Jennifer may have handed over in the lead up to the murder, and a small amount of marijuana fronted to Lenford and Eric by Daniel after Jennifer’s arrest, this $2,000 was the only cash ever to exchange hands in return for murder. Small potatoes for the havoc wreaked on so many lives.
Lives Forever Changed: Impact Statements
Hann Pan
When I lost my wife, I lost my daughter at the same time. I don’t feel like I have a family anymore. On the day Bich-Ha died, I feel like I died, too. My life totally changed that day. Some say I should feel lucky to be alive, but I feel like I am dead, too. I can’t work anymore because of my injuries and I have given up all of the things I used to love to do, like gardening, working on cars, and listening to music. There is no joy in any of that for me.
I miss my wife so much. She knew me better than anyone and cared about me. I am so lonely without her. We were married for almost thirty years. Bich-Ha was a good wife and a good mother. She always put her children first and rarely spent money on herself. She loved music and loved to go line dancing; she took care of our children while I worked. She had always wanted to go to Vietnam, and I always said we have to spend our money on the children’s education first, but once they are finished school we can focus on doing the things we want then. But that time never came for her. I don’t find any joy in holidays anymore. I am sad and lonely all the time. Sometimes when I see my friends I try to pretend I am happy but struggle with being jealous of my friends’ families and their happiness. My only hope for the future is that Felix will get married and let me live with him. Right now I live with my two sisters and my elderly mother as I can’t stand being in my home because of all the bad memories of what happened there. There are repairs that need to be done on the house, but because of my injuries I am unable to do anything. I don’t like going to my house because my neighbours ask me what happened and I am ashamed. I can’t sell the house because it is in a Chinese neighbourhood [with superstition] and no one would want to live there because of the murder.
Hann Pan
and Bich-Ha Pan. Undated photo.
I cannot sleep at night and have constant nightmares about what happened the night we were shot. I feel panicked all the time, especially when I see a group of young men in the street. I am not racist at all, but black men really scare me if I see them standing in a group. I am in a lot of pain and take medication for pain every day. I have no appetite as food is not pleasurable to me because I know I will never be able to taste my wife’s cooking again. I am also on medication for diabetes and high cholesterol as I cannot exercise as it is too painful. My life has totally changed. I attend my wife’s grave with my brother and sister-in-law on the anniversary of her death and on other special holidays and it is so very hard on me to remember how she died and what my life has become.
I am a very lonely person and have no one to share my feelings with as my son, Felix, does not want to talk about what happened and just wants to forget. It is very hard for Felix; he doesn’t want to hear his sister’s name and doesn’t want to know about what happens in court. Felix has become very separate and is a very different person; he doesn’t want to talk about the family, and he is very closed down, distant and too sad. He says he doesn’t want to remember and won’t look for a job in Toronto because he feels like he has a bad family name because everyone knows about his mother’s murder. I would like to thank the following people who have been involved in this case through this very difficult time with me: Michelle Rumble, Jennifer Halajian, Rob Scott, Detective Bill Courtice and the York Regional Police, Justice Boswell, the members of the jury, Karen Binch, and Dianne Blair. I hope my daughter, Jennifer, thinks about what has happened to her family and can become a good and honest person someday.
Felix Pan
Four years have passed since the incident on November 8, 2010, and although many things have changed, some of the things I hoped would change didn’t. I can’t recall how many times I have been told “Time will heal all.” As much as I wish this were true, I can’t say it has for me. It dulls and fades over time as periods of depression brighten up to give me hope and drive me to try to change things in my life. Supportive family, encouraging friends, and happy Internet videos make me want to stand up and make a difference in this lifetime. Not only for my family and me, but for the world we all share. But in an instant it is all gone. A comment from a stranger, sad news on the radio, an awful day. Sometimes all it takes is a whiff of a long-forgotten smell to send my mind spinning back into the darkness. My heartbeat races and I’m thinking about every breath because my brain has completely forgotten how to breathe. Like a dark shadow it’s something I cannot hide from. The best I can do is try to keep moving. I can be the first to admit running away from my problems is not healthy, but it is the only way I know how to keep going. I don’t have an issue talking about feelings or have issues trusting people around me. I have people who I can tell everything, but when it comes to this one thing, nothing comes out. Even trying to piece words together now feels like mission impossible. I keep telling myself I have to do this for the ones who no longer can. Now I am stuck. This is where I want to start to talk about how I lost my emotional support, my foundation, my mom. This is where the pen stops, the flood gates open, and I can no longer continue with this topic. Unfortunately, this is not where I stop losing people. News of this incident spread fast like wildfire through friends, family, and all throughout Facebook. Everyone knew. From then on nothing was the same. Everyone’s reaction toward me was different. The way they asked me, “Hey, how are you doing?” Or sometimes it’s just a “Hey” and a long pause, not sure if they should carry on. Some friends could take it, some friends couldn’t. At the end of the day I don’t blame anyone for bailing. I, if anyone, should know how draining this can be. For those who stuck around, I am grateful yet pity. Being associated with me doesn’t come without consequence. I recently invited someone and their friends over for New Year’s. I had to watch them squirm and suffer as they tried their best to refuse without admitting to the fear of explaining to friends how they ended up at a home of such darkness. I’ve had to deal with this long enough to know it’s happening before it happens. I once had a friend who simply wanted to Google directions to come over [to my house], but instead of a map, received pages and pages of news articles — my name, where I went to school, my major intersection. Any one of these things is enough to warrant the question, “Hey, did you hear about the Markham home invasion a few years back?” Unfortunately, four years doesn’t give me enough experience to dig such a terrifying question. For four years people have been telling me, “You have stayed so strong” and “You are the strongest person I know.” I honestly cannot agree. To me being strong is a choice. Being forced through a tough time is just surviving. For the longest time I would keep telling myself I have to keep moving forward. That it was the only way not to let this define me. I worked hard, studied hard, did everything I thought I was supposed to, reminding myself that I wasn’t just doing it for me. I was doing it for everyone who ever loved me. Believe me, it’s a lot harder than they make it seem in the movies. Fast-forward a few years and I’m a brand-new graduate. The worst is over, time to build a new life, or so I thought. Starting a new career, I thought I could finally leave some of this baggage behind me. Little did I know it’s not so easy. In the unforgiving world of social media, nothing gets left behind. I can have a perfect résumé and perfect LinkedIn, but it’s always overshadowed by what happened in 2010. Any employer looking for Felix Pan over the Internet is first welcomed with punchlines such as “Brother Believed Sister’s Lies, Murder Trial Told — Toronto Sun.” Not a great start. I guess hard work doesn’t always pay off. Sometimes no matter what you say or do, no matter your skills or personality, it’s impossible to see through the past and give someone a chance. When first asked to make a statement regarding how this case has impacted me, I didn’t know what to expect. Now that I’m writing down my last few thoughts, I’m questioning if this is what everyone else expects. It’s been a while since everything happened, but I am still barely able to think about, let alone write about, how I feel for others to read. There are many things I would rather not discuss and some things I couldn’t even if I wanted to. We have barely scratched the surface of what is going on in my life. I just hope this allows you to get what you are looking for and gives you a glimpse of what it is like to be me.
A Daughter's Deadly Deception Page 34