On the night of September 29, 2012, police in New Westminster, British Columbia, responded to a frantic 911 call from an apartment building. Inside one of the units, they found a scene of horrific violence. A young woman was lying on the floor, bleeding profusely from multiple stab wounds. She was rushed to the hospital, but her injuries were too severe.

At 5:44 a.m., 26-year-old January Marie Lapuz was pronounced dead. The subsequent investigation would reveal the story of a vibrant, beloved community leader whose life was a complex tapestry of public advocacy, private struggle, and ultimately, shocking tragedy.

To Vancouver’s LGBTQ+ community, January was a beacon of light. Described by friends as the “life of the party,” she was a whirlwind of positive energy—always laughing, joking, singing, and dancing. Born in the Philippines as John Carlo Lapus, her life was marked by hardship from the very beginning.

At just two months old, her biological mother sold her for a mere 1,000 pesos (about $20) to Betty Lapuz, a single woman who raised January as her own beloved child. Betty was unconditionally supportive, and when life in the Philippines proved too difficult and judgmental, she moved with a teenage January to Canada for a more accepting and prosperous life.

In Canada, January fully embraced her identity, transitioning and legally changing her name. She poured her energy into advocacy, becoming the first-ever transgender person to hold an executive position at Sher Vancouver, a prominent LGBTQ+ support organization.

As their Social Coordinator, she mentored new members, organized events, and became a fierce protector for those feeling lost or confused. She was building a life of purpose and making a real difference.

But behind the public persona was a private struggle. As her mother Betty later explained, January had lost her passport and other essential documents, making it difficult to secure stable, long-term employment.

Discrimination against transgender individuals was still a harsh reality. To pay her rent and survive, January had a secret life: she was a sex worker. It was this hidden part of her world that would ultimately lead to her death.

In the initial hours of the investigation, police had few leads. Friends who heard January’s screams reported seeing a man, possibly Asian, fleeing the scene. The description was vague, and the trail went cold. But in December, a breakthrough came with the arrest of 20-year-old Charles Jameson “Jamie” Neil. Neil was not Asian; he was an Aboriginal Canadian. He was charged with second-degree murder.

As the case moved toward trial, Neil’s defense became clear: he claimed self-defense. According to his statement, he had connected with January online for sex services and went to her apartment on the night of September 29. He alleged they got into a heated argument over the price.

Neil claimed that January, who was taller and heavier, became enraged, grabbed a pair of scissors, and attacked him, cutting his hand. He said he fled to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and stabbed her to protect himself.

The prosecution, however, painted a very different picture. Chief among their arguments was the sheer brutality of the attack. Eighteen stab wounds, they argued, was not self-defense; it was overkill, an act of uncontrollable rage. Furthermore, Neil’s actions after the killing spoke volumes.

Instead of calling for help or turning himself in, he immediately booked a flight and fled the country to Thailand, where he stayed for two months. He only returned to Canada because he believed he had gotten away with it. To the prosecution, this was irrefutable proof of a guilty conscience.

Just days before his trial in June 2014, Neil’s legal strategy shifted. He accepted a plea deal from the prosecution, agreeing to plead guilty to the lesser charge of manslaughter in exchange for the second-degree murder charge being dropped. The case proceeded to a sentencing hearing, where the battle over January’s memory and Neil’s motivations played out in wrenching detail.

Neil’s defense attorney, David Neal, attempted to garner sympathy for his client by “playing the race card.” He argued that as an Aboriginal man, Neil had also faced a lifetime of discrimination and hardship, which led to mental health and anger issues.

He then went on the offensive, using Neil’s text messages with January to publicly expose her as a sex worker, attempting to shift blame and paint her as the aggressor in a transaction gone wrong.

Prosecutor Rusty Antonio fired back, arguing that January’s work was a result of the very discrimination her community fought against. He theorized that Neil’s rage was not a reaction to a threat, but was fueled by a toxic combination of cheapness and transphobic hate. The 18 stab wounds and his flight to Thailand, Antonio argued, proved his intent and lack of remorse.

Ultimately, Justice Frits Verhoeven sentenced Jamie Neil to eight years in prison. With credit for time already served, he would be eligible for parole in just over five years. The sentence was a devastating blow to January’s mother and the LGBTQ+ community, who felt that justice had not been served. Their fears seemed justified when, just five months after his release on parole in June 2019, Neil was re-arrested for violating his conditions.

Though her killer tried to erase her and then shame her memory, he failed. January’s death galvanized the community, sparking rallies for justice and raising awareness about the epidemic of violence against transgender women. Sher Vancouver honored her by producing an award-winning documentary, “My Name Was January,” ensuring that her story, her light, and her legacy would never be forgotten.