Murder: True Crime Stories - SOLVED: The Model Student Murderer Pt. 1

Episode Date: August 11, 2026

From the outside, Jennifer Pan was the perfect daughter. She brought home straight A's, won swimming trophies and piano awards, and seemed destined for a career in medicine, exactly the future her strict immigrant parents had demanded. But almost none of it was real. Over years, Jennifer built an elaborate web of lies to hide failing grades, a secret boyfriend, and a life that looked nothing like the one her parents believed she was living. As the deceptions piled up and the walls began to close in, she came to believe there was only one way out. In Part 1 of Murder: True Crime Stories, host Carter Roy traces Jennifer's transformation from a gifted, obedient child into a young woman trapped by impossible expectations and her own mounting lies, and the suffocating pressure that set the stage for an unthinkable plan.Head over to our YouTube channel to WATCH our video episodes: https://www.youtube.com/@crimehousestudios If you’re new here, don’t forget to follow Murder: True Crime Stories to never miss a case! Want all 2 parts of every case all at once? Join Crime House+ and get both parts of each case dropped at once ad-free. Join at crimehouseplus.com or if you’re listening on Apple Podcasts, tap “Try Free” at the top of this show’s page. Murder: True Crime Stories is a Crime House Original Podcast, powered by PAVE Studios.🎧 Need More to Binge? Listen to other Crime House Originals Clues, Crimes Of Reddit, Serial Killers & Murderous Minds, Crime House 24/7, and more wherever you get your podcasts!Follow me on SocialInstagram: @CrimehouseTikTok: @CrimehouseFacebook: @crimehousestudiosX: @crimehousemediaYouTube: @crimehousestudios

Hi listeners, it's Carter. Before today's episode of Murder True Crime Stories, I want to tell you about another podcast I am hosting. I know you'll love. Crime House and A&E are teaming up on the podcast version of the famous true crime series, The First 48. Each week, I'll take you inside a landmark homicide case, the interrogations, the dead ends,

and the breakthroughs in the critical first 48 hours. listen to and follow the first 48 every Thursday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to podcasts. This is Crime House. Every family tells a story about itself. It's the story of who you are, where you came from, and where you're headed. And for some families, that story isn't just something they tell. It becomes the whole point.

The proof that all the sacrifices, actually added up to something. For Bick and Hand Pan, it was a good story, maybe even a great one. They were two refugees who arrived in Canada with nothing but each other, and for 25 years they worked themselves to the bone, building a life out of long shifts and careful savings. At the center of it all was a daughter they were certain would grow up to be everything they never had the chance to be.

That was their story, and they believed in it with everything they had. But every story has the parts of family chooses to tell, and the parts it keeps to itself. And on the night of November 8, 2010, inside their own home, the story the Pans had spent a lifetime telling came apart. and what initially seemed like a senseless tragedy would turn out to be something far stranger and far harder to understand than anyone could have imagined. People's lives are like a story. There's a beginning, a middle, and an end.

But you don't always know which part you're on. Sometimes the final chapter arrives far too soon, and we don't always get to know the real ending. I'm Carter Roy. this is murder, true crime stories, a crime house original powered by Pave Studios. New episodes come out every Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday, with Friday's episodes covering the cases that deserve a deeper look. Thank you for being part of the crime house community. Please rate, review, and follow the show. And for early, add free access to every episode,

subscribe to Crime House Plus. You'll get part one and part two at the same time, plus exclusive bonus content. To join, go to crimehouseplus.com or tap try free on the Murder True Crime Story show page on Apple podcasts. Before we get started, a heads up, this episode includes references to self-harm. Please listen with care. This is the first of two episodes on the Pan Family Murder in Markham, Ontario. It's a story about

how far two parents were willing to go to give their kids a better life. And what happens when saying no doesn't seem like an option. Today, I'll introduce you to Bick and Han Pan, the daughter they pinned all their dreams on, and the night three armed men walked into their home. By the end, the detective sitting across from the one person not attacked would start to wonder if he was talking to a victim or a mastermind. mind. Next time, we'll follow the investigation as it pulls apart a story almost a decade in the making, and we'll see how a quiet suburban family ended up at the center of one of Canada's most disturbing murder cases. All that and more coming up. In 1979, a 26-year-old man

named Hueh-Han Pan came to the end of a journey that had nearly killed him. Han had grown up in Vietnam, a country left broken by decades of war. By the late 1970s, hundreds of thousands of people were trying to get out any way they could. Many of them did it by sea, packed on a small, overloaded boats gambling their lives on open water. When Canada announced it would take in refugees from Vietnam, Han took the chance. He crossed the South China Sea and arrived in Toronto with no money and barely a word of English. But he wasn't the only one making that trip. Around the same time, a woman in her early 20s named Bik Ha Luang was leaving Vietnam too.

Like Han, she was an ethnic Chinese refugee. Like Han, she landed in Toronto in a community of people who had all started over from absolute zero. and they were far from alone. In the late 1970s and into the 1980s, Canada took in tens of thousands of refugees from Vietnam. When Bick and Han eventually crossed paths in Toronto through the immigrant community, it turned out they had already had a connection back home. In a city of strangers, they recognized each other. They reconnected, they fell in love, and before long, they got married.

They both found work at Magna International, a big auto parts manufacturer in Aurora, a town north of the city. Hand trained as a tool and dye maker. Bick worked on the line, assembling car parts. The shifts were long, the work was physical, and the pay wasn't much. But they came from a world where hard work wasn't just a value people talked about. It was the only road up. And so they took it. They put their heads down, saved every dollar they could, and started building towards something.

A big part of that something was family. On June 17, 1986, Bick gave birth to a baby girl. They named her Jennifer. Part of that was sentiments, and part of it was strategy. An English name meant teachers and classmates wouldn't stumble over it. and the kids wouldn't have one more thing setting them apart. Three years later, in 1989, the Pans had a son who they named Felix for the same reason. From the very beginning, Bick and Han had a clear picture of who their children were going to be.

They had crossed an ocean and clawed their way into the middle class. Their kids were supposed to take everything they'd built and make something even bigger out of it. One day, Jennifer would be a pharmacist or a doctor. Felix would be an engineer. That wasn't a wish. To Han, it was closer to a plan. By the early 1990s, that plan was taking shape. The family had saved enough to buy a small house in Scarborough,

a working class part of the Toronto area, full of immigrant families doing exactly what the pans were. It wasn't fancy, but it was theirs. And it was where Jennifer grew up living two lives at once. At school, she was a Canadian kid, surrounded by Canadian friends and Canadian culture. At home, the family spoke Vietnamese and Cantonese and celebrated traditional holidays. For a child, that's a lot to balance. early on, you're learning how to be one person in one room and a slightly different person in the next.

You learn to read what each room wants from you and to give it to them. Mostly, though, Jennifer's childhood was about one thing. Achievement. Her parents enrolled her in piano lessons when she was just four years old, and she showed real promise almost immediately. A couple of years later, they put her. her on the ice and figure skating became the center of her world. And they added more on top of that. Swimming, Chinese martial arts, around the age of 12, she was also taking music theory and

harmony lessons, all while training at the rink most days of the week. Notice what all of those have in common. They're things you do alone. There's no team to share the credit with and no team to share the blame. When Jennifer did well, the win was hers alone. When she fell short, that landed on her alone too. For a long time, she mostly won. By elementary school, she had a case full of medals and trophies and a report card full of top marks. The shelves filled up with skating medals and ribbons from piano recitals. To her parents, she wasn't just a kid doing well, she was living proof that the plan was working. But there was a price for all of it,

and Jennifer paid it quietly. Her days ran end-to-end with almost no slack. Some nights during elementary school, she wouldn't get home from skating practice until 10 p.m. Then she'd sit down and grind through homework until midnight before getting up the next morning and doing it all over again. none of this was really her choice. It was a life built around a future someone else had picked for her,

and the pressure didn't stop at her own front door. At school, instead of running around at recess, Jennifer would spend her lunch hour helping out in the office, grading work for the younger kids and looking after them in the yard. One teacher would later remember that Jennifer didn't just see herself as the teacher's pet, She saw herself as the school pet. She was the child who acted like a small adult, the one who couldn't quite let herself just be a kid.

And there's something a little sad about that. Here was a nine or ten-year-old who had already absorbed the idea that her value was measured by how useful she was, how impressive she was, how much she could do for everyone else. And that's a heavy way to put on a child. and nobody around her seemed to be lifting any of it back off. And all of that pressure had a source. Jennifer's father set the tone.

Han was the classic tiger dad, and he made sure Jennifer understood exactly how disappointed he'd be if she slipped. So she learned not to slip, and she learned not to complain about the cost of never slipping. Somewhere around the age of 10 or 11, that cough started showing up in a darker way. Jennifer began hurting herself. Small cuts hidden on her forearms in places her sleeves would cover. And here's the part that's truly heartbreaking.

No one in her life seemed to notice. She kept the smile up, kept the grades up, and kept the secret to herself. Still, there was tenderness in that house. house, and it came from Bick. When Han was too hard on the kids, Bick would often quietly knock on Jennifer's door afterward to check on her. Jennifer held on to those moments with her mom. Here's what makes it complicated, though. Jennifer didn't hate everything about her life. She'd genuinely love to skate. Out on the ice, despite her bad eyesight and her asthma, she felt something close to free,

like the weight on her shoulders lifted for a few minutes at a time. Piano was the same kind of escape. She once described it as a sort of therapy, the one place she could put feelings she couldn't say out loud anywhere else. There was a real irony there. The activities her parents had picked to turn her into a winner had quietly become the only places she felt like herself. The skating wasn't about the Olympics for her.

The piano wasn't about a recital. They were the two narrow windows where she got to stop performing and simply be. So, picture this kid. She was gifted. She still loved parts of her life. And underneath it all, she was buckling under the strain. None of it showed to the people around her, she seemed completely fine. Then came the first real crack.

In 1999, when she was 13, Jennifer was finishing the eighth grade. She had the grades, she had the reputation, and she fully expected to be named valedictorian and collect a stack of academic awards on the way out. She got none of it. The valedictorian honor went to someone else. For a lot of kids, that's a rough afternoon. You eventually shrug off. For Jennifer, it didn't land like a disappointment.

It landed like a verdict. She had done everything right, exactly the way she'd been told to, and it still hadn't been enough. Imagine building your entire sense of self around being the best, then watching the prize go to somebody. else. It's not just losing. It's losing the one thing you thought made you worth loving. But she didn't fall apart, at least not anywhere anyone could see. She buried it behind the cheerful

masks she'd later describe, told everyone she was fine, and headed off to high school. And high school is where Jennifer seemed to finally exhale at Mary Ward Catholic secondary school, she came out of her shell, she joined the school band where she played the flute. She wasn't the most popular kid in the building, but people liked her, and she moved easily between different crowds. For the first time, she had something close to an ordinary teenage social life. But there were limits, hard ones. Hans' rules didn't loosen up just because Jennifer was getting older. No school dances, no parties, and no dating, period, until she was through university.

On the rare occasion, she was allowed to have a sleepover at a friend's house. Her parents would drop her off late at night and pick her up early the next morning. It was almost like they were limiting how much of the outside world could get to her. By the time Jennifer reached her early 20s, she had never been to a club, never been drunk and never taken a vacation without her family. To Bick and Han, all of this was love. It was protection. To Jennifer and her friends, it felt like something closer to a cage.

One former classmate put it plainly, she said the pans were, quote, absolutely controlling. And then the one thing Jennifer truly loved, got taken away. Somewhere in high school at figure skating practice, she tore a legament in her knee. She recovered, but she was never the same skater again. Whatever dream she'd had of competing at the top level, maybe even one day chasing the 2010 Winter Olympics, were gone with a single bad landing. What hurt most wasn't losing the sport. It was the feeling that she'd let her parents down. One more thing she was supposed to deliver and couldn't. No one knew it yet, but that injury marked a turning point because from here on out, the gap between who Bick and

Han believe their daughter was and who Jennifer actually was would only get wider. and eventually that gap would swallow the whole family. While Jennifer Pan was quietly coming apart on the inside, her parents were about to reach the proudest moment of their lives, because by 2004, after 25 years of double shifts and careful saving, Bick and Hand Pan had finally built the life they'd always wanted. They left Scarborough behind, and bought a large home with a two-car garage on a quiet residential street in Markham,

a city just north of Toronto, with a big East Asian community. They had managed to put away around $200,000. Han drove a Mercedes-Benz, Bick drove Alexis. For two people who'd come to Canada with literally nothing, that driveway was proof they'd made it. It was a milestone decades in the making, and the whole thing had a centerpiece, their daughter. That same year, 18-year-old Jennifer told her parents she'd been accepted into the science program at Ryerson University in downtown Toronto, and that she'd won a scholarship worth a few thousand dollars to go with it.

It wasn't Han's first choice. He'd had his heart set on the University of Toronto's pharmacology program, But Jennifer had a plan. She'd spent two years studying science at Ryerson, keep her grades high, and then transfer into U of T. Han could live with that. He was proud of her, and to help her start strong, he set her up with money in her account, co-signed a credit card, and bought her a new laptop. Jennifer had everything she needed to launch the life he'd always imagined for her.

For the next few years, life inside the pan house settled into a comfortable rhythm. Jennifer was still living at home, and as far as anyone could tell, she was thriving the way she always had. Every morning she packed her bag and headed downtown, and her parents assumed she was off to campus. In 2006, she brought home even bigger news. She'd been accepted into the University of Toronto's pharmacology. program exactly the way she'd told them she would. Around the same time, she also asked for a little breathing room. She had a friend named Topaz who lived near the downtown campus, and the daily commute was long, sometimes 45 minutes each way. So Jennifer asked if she could

stay at Topaz's place a few nights a week. Bick felt bad about all that travel and thought it was a good idea. The hard part was getting hand on board, but after some convincing, he agreed. It was a small loosening of the leash, and for the next couple of years, it held. Jennifer split her time between home and downtown, and from where her parents stood, she was gliding toward a career in medicine. In 2008, the payoff arrived. Jennifer told her family she was graduating from U of T. For Bick and Han, this was the moment they'd been waiting for. Their daughter was on her way to becoming a pharmacist. They wanted to be there, obviously, but Jennifer told them the graduating class was enormous, and each student only got a single ticket. She didn't want to make one parent stay home

while the other went, so she said she'd already given her ticket to a friend. Han was let down, but he understood. Afterward, he asked to at least see photos of her crossing the stage. Jennifer told him her friend had taken pictures, but had already flown back home to Hong Kong with them. It was a little strange. No seat at the ceremony, and now no photos either, but hand let it go.

The diploma was what mattered. And what she did with it next sounded perfect. Jennifer told her parents she'd landed a volunteer spot in the blood testing lab at Toronto's hospital for sick children. It didn't pay, but it was exactly the kind of experience that turns into a real job in the field. She told them she worked Friday nights and weekends. Bick and Han couldn't have been prouder. Their daughter was giving back to her community and building her career at the same time. Han especially felt like every sacrifice had paid off. He had bet his whole life on his daughter being exactly who she appeared to be. But that certainty was about to

be tested in the worst way imaginable. The evening of November 8th, 2010 began like any other. 24-year-old Jennifer was still living at home in Markham, still spending some nights downtown, and still, as far as her parents knew, volunteering at the hospital and working toward her future. Meanwhile, her younger brother Felix was away studying engineering at McMaster University. That night, Jennifer was upstairs in her room watching TV. Han was reading the Vietnamese language news down the hall and went to bed early. around 8.30 the way he usually did. Bick was out at her weekly line dancing class with a friend and a cousin. She got home around 9.30, tired, her feet aching. She changed into her pajamas,

sank onto the couch on the main floor, and soaked her feet in a basin of water while the TV murmured in front of her. By every measure, a completely ordinary night. But a little after 10 p.m. that all changed. Upstairs, Han woke to find a man standing over his bed in the dark, demanding to know where the money was. When Han tried to push back, the man pressed a gun against his head, told him to be quiet, and marched him out of the bedroom and toward the stairs. At the bottom of those stairs, Han saw two more men. One of them had a gun trained on Bick, who was still sitting on the couch with her feet in the water, too frightened to move. She looked at her husband and asked him in Cantonese how these men had gotten inside.

Han said he didn't know. The men kept demanding money. Han told them the truth. He had about $60 in his wallet, and that was it. The family didn't keep. keep cash in the house. They'd actually been robbed once before, years earlier, and ever since, they'd been careful not to keep anything valuable lying around. The men searched the main bedroom anyway, turning up some American bills Han and Bick had set aside, but it wasn't much, and the men didn't believe it was all there was. One of them hit Han in the back of the head, and he crashed to the floor. That was when Bick started to plead. She told the men they could do anything they wanted to her and her husband, just please leave their daughter out of it. If the men heard her, they gave no sign,

they were done searching the house. But they weren't done with Bick and Han. They took the two of them down to the basement and set them on a couch side by side. There were no more questions now, no more demands for money. Han tried to keep himself calm. Bick couldn't. Then one of the men raised his gun and fired. The shots tore into both of them. Bick was hit several times. hand took rounds to the face and the shoulder. One bullet shattered the bone near his eye and his neck, and yet somehow just missed a major artery. He went down into a spreading pool of his own blood,

and everything went dark. Upstairs, Jennifer would later tell police she heard the gunfire and called 911. She told the dispatcher that men had broken into the house. house and tied her up, but she'd managed to reach her phone and dial for help. Down in the basement, Han was still alive, but by the time he clawed his way back to consciousness on that basement floor, the men were gone, and his wife was lying beside him not moving. Somehow, with the wounds he had, Han started dragging himself toward the stairs. About half a minute into Jennifer's 911 call, the dispatcher picked up a sound in the background.

It was Han. He had hauled himself up to the main floor, made it to the front door, staggered into the front yard, and collapsed. When paramedics arrived, they rushed him to the hospital, where doctors placed him into a medically induced coma in a desperate effort to keep him alive. inside the house, officers found Jennifer bound near the top of the staircase, and down in the basement, they found Bick. Bick-Hop Pan was pronounced dead at the scene. She was 53 years old. One of the last things she ever did was beg the men who murdered her to spare her daughter, even at the end she was thinking of her child. Now it fell to the police to hunt down her killers

and find justice for Han who was clinging to life in a hospital bed. They believed they already understood what had happened in that house, a robbery gone wrong. But the truth about what happened that night was far stranger and far more disturbing than anyone. realized. And when the full picture finally emerged, it would leave everyone asking one question. Why? In the early morning hours of November 9th, 2010, the Pan family home in Markham became a crime scene. Bick was dead. Han was in a coma fighting for his life, and their daughter Jennifer

was alive but shaken. At first glance, this looked like a home invasion gone horribly wrong, the kind of crime that terrifies a quiet neighborhood. The early local headlines treated it exactly that way, warning residents that armed and dangerous men were on the loose. Investigators quickly launched a manhunt, searching for a crew who had shot two people in their own home and vanished. And Jennifer, the surviving dog,

was treated as exactly what she appeared to be, a traumatized witness who had barely made it out alive. But almost right away, the people working that scene started noticing things that didn't fit, starting with the house itself. Nothing of real value was missing. Bix, Lexus sat in a driveway with the keys right there by the front door, easy to grab. There was no sign anyone had forced their way in. No smashed window, no broken lock, nothing. And what had the men actually taken?

Cash. Jennifer said they'd grabbed a couple of thousand dollars from her, plus some American bills from her parents' bedroom. That was it. They'd killed two people and walked out with pocket money. Beyond the basement, the house was almost untouched. The only real sign of violence on the main floor was the trail of blood Han had left behind when he dragged himself to the front door, which led detectives to the hardest question of all.

If several armed men came into that house and shot two people in the basement, why was the third person, the young woman upstairs, left completely unharmed? She didn't have so much as a bruise on her. nothing to suggest a struggle. Why would intruders go to the trouble of leaving behind a living breathing witness who could describe them? None of it added up to a robbery. Robbers want things. They grab what's valuable and they leave fast.

These men had walked past a luxury car with the keys sitting right there, ignored it, and instead spent their time marching two middle-aged people down to a basement to execute them. That is not what a thief does. That's what a killer does. Suddenly, the robbery was starting to look less like a motive and more like a cover story. And in those first hours,

only one person could give the authorities the answers they were looking for. Jennifer, the daughter who'd survived. detectives from York Regional Police sat down with her to walk through what had happened. She said there were three men, and she did her best to describe them what they wore, how they sounded. She described one with a Caribbean accent and said he was the one who'd held her parents at gunpoint. She walked the detectives through the whole sequence from the first sounds downstairs to the moment she managed to call for help. But one word in her account stuck out.

Describing the men who had just murdered her mother, she called them gentlemen. It was a jarring thing to say about the people who had destroyed her family. But it wasn't just the word choice that struck the detectives. It was the way she carried herself. Jennifer was calm, strikingly calm. For a young woman whose mother had just been shot to death of floor, lower. At one point, talking about her mom, she seemed to start crying, and a detective handed her a tissue. He watched her dab at her eyes with it, and when she lowered the tissue,

he noticed something. It was completely dry. Now, on its own, that proves nothing. People react to horror in wildly different ways. Some go numb. Some can't cry at all, even when the grief is real and crushing. Any good investigator knows that. So they kept an open mind and they let Jennifer keep talking. But it's the kind of detail that sticks in a detective's memory. You file it away. You don't convict anyone on a dry tissue. You just notice it. And you wait to see whether the rest of the story holds up. Unfortunately for Jennifer, the more she explained, the more the story strained at the seams. I'll take the 911 call. Jennifer said the men had tied her hands and bound her to the upstairs banister. So detectives asked the obvious question, how did she dial a phone,

and how did she hold it up to her ear with her hands tied behind her back? She showed them how she could reach the phone in her back pocket, but even then the phone would have been a foot and a half from her head. When they asked how she could possibly hear the operator from there, she paused, and then she said she'd turned the volume all the way up. It was possible, barely, but it was the kind of answer that opens more questions than it closes. And these questions didn't stand alone. They piled onto everything else that refused to add up. Intruders who had come to rob the place, but brought no bag, no box, nothing to carry the loot away, intruders who, for reasons no one could explain,

had left behind a living witness, one who could describe them in detail. Sitting across from Jennifer, the detectives felt the ground start to move. They'd walked into that room looking at a grieving daughter, the lone survivor of a massacre. Now, a much darker, possibility was creeping in around the edges. What if she wasn't just a witness? They wouldn't have to

wonder for long, because across town, against all odds, Pan Pan was still alive. For days, he lay in that medically induced coma while doctors worked to stabilize him. And the whole time, a question was waiting for him on the other side. Han was the only other person who had been awake in that house. He had seen the men. He'd been marched down his own staircase with a gun to his head. If anyone could fill in what had really happened that night, it was him. And when he finally woke up, what he remembered didn't line up with his daughter's story at all.

because Han remembered something he couldn't explain away. In the middle of the terror, with guns pointed at him and at his wife, he had seen Jennifer with one of the intruders, and she hadn't been struggling or pleading or frozen in fear. She'd been talking to him, quietly, calmly, like the two of them, already knew each other. To Han, lying in that hospital bed, having just lost his wife of decades, it pointed towards something almost too terrible to say out loud, that these men hadn't stumbled into the

wrong house. Someone had let them in. Someone had been waiting for them. And the only person left standing in that house when it was over. was his own daughter. Thanks so much for listening. I'm Carter Roy, and this is Murder, True Crime Stories. Come back next time for Part 2 on the Pan Family Murder

and all the people it affected. Murder True Crime Stories is a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. Here at Crime House, we want to thank each and every one of you for your support. If you like what you heard today, reach out on social media at Crime House on TikTok and Instagram.

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dropped on Tuesday, completely ad-free, no waiting for part two, plus ad-free and early access to every show across Crimehouse and bonus episodes every month. To join, go to crimehouseplus.com, or if you listen on Apple Podcasts, tap,

try free at the top of the Murder True Crime Stories page. We'll be back on Thursday. Murder True Crime Stories is hosted by me, Carter Roy, and is a crime house original powered by Pave Studios. This episode was brought to life by the Murder True Crime Stories team, Max Cutler, Ron Shapiro, Alex Benadon, Natalie Pertzowski, Lori Maranelli, Sarah Camp, Alyssa Fox, Nicolette Tavallero, and Russell Nash. Thank you for listening.

Hi, listeners, it's Carter. Before today's episode of Murder True Crime Stories, I want to tell you about another podcast I am hosting. I know you'll love. Crime House and A&E are teaming up on the podcast version of the famous true crime series, the first 48. each week I'll take you inside a landmark homicide case, the interrogations, the dead ends, and the breakthroughs in the critical first 48 hours.

Listen to and follow the first 48 every Thursday on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you listen to podcasts.