Couple’s Troubles, Children’s Promise Consumed in Flames

It was about a week ago when 8-year-old Diana Luong confided to her best friend and neighbor that her parents had been fighting and that she might have to move away and live with her mother.

“She said she might never see me again,” Minar Kim, 8, recounted Monday. But Diana and her siblings were allowed to spend Sunday with their father, Duc Dang Luong. And Minar remembers waving goodby to Diana on Sunday afternoon as Luong drove his children on an outing, Minar not knowing that she and Diana would then be forever separated.

In the early-morning hours of Monday, rescuers found the bodies of Diana, her sisters Lynda, 10, and Joanna, 3, brother David, 6, and their father on a bedroom floor. All were victims of a fire that authorities are investigating as an apparent murder-suicide.

It is an incident that has rocked an otherwise quiet north Anaheim neighborhood where, according to Kiok Kim, Minar’s mother, the Kim children often played baseball with the Luong children on their front lawns; where Lynda had earned entry as a gifted student to Alexander J. Stoddard Elementary School in the fall, and where Duc Luong lovingly tended his home garden.

Although Diana had hinted of internal strife, statements from neighbors and interviews conducted by police confirm that the family had consistently presented a happy front.

But things were not what they seemed, according to Quyen Luong, Duc Luong’s 44-year-old brother.

Luong’s wife, Hang Tran, recently complained that her husband was keeping her from continuing her education and from a career outside the home. Quyen Luong said the two had separated just last week.

“He called me (Sunday) frantic and crying about his family being broken up,” said Luong, whose wife is Hang Tran’s aunt. “I told him, ‘Don’t worry, keep healthy, take care of the children and be patient.’

“The only speculation I can come up with as to why they separated is that Duc loved her obsessively and thought the family life should be patterned like that of a traditional Vietnamese family,” he said. “That means the husband works and the wife stays home. I guess, and I don’t really know, the problem arose when she wanted to do otherwise.”

Duc Luong and Hang Tran met in South Carolina, where the Luongs and the Trans had emigrated from Vietnam in 1975, Luong said. The two moved to Orange County and were married here in 1978.

“After 14 years of marriage with four children, I had assumed they were happy with each other. They had little problems just like ordinary couples, but nothing out of the ordinary,” Quyen Luong said.

Nothing until about two weeks ago when, he said, his brother called to say that he and his wife had been arguing about her career plans. The couple met with Quyen Luong and Hang’s father, Phan Tran, to discuss their troubles.

The men counseled her, saying that the children might be too young for her to be away from the house but that they should compromise, Luong said. The couple then promised to work out their differences.

A week after the counseling, Hang Tran left the house and moved in with her father in Riverside County.

“Whatever the situation was, I don’t think they solved it,” Luong said. “I remember Duc saying, ‘I’m so sad, she’s made up her mind to leave me.’

“He asked me for advice. . . . I told him regardless of his and Hang’s problems, he has to control himself for the sake of the young children. I told him I couldn’t tell him what to do in terms of letting Hang go back to school. That was their personal business and I didn’t want to meddle.”

Duc Luong and Hang Tran were very loyal to each other, Quyen Luong said, and he was surprised when in recent weeks the couple admitted to others that they did not have a perfect marriage.

“He’s a very kind man,” Luong said of his younger brother. “He only knows how to take care of his family.”

When Duc first talked about the recent arguments, “I thought it was only something small.

“Now, I don’t dare speculate what happened,” he said, his voice breaking. “The way I see it, their lives were very normal. She had never complained about anything before, at least not to anyone else that I know of.”

Relatives did not learn of the deadly fire until 6 a.m. Monday, when Phan Tran came to pick up his grandchildren. Instead, he found yellow police tape surrounding the four-bedroom home. He was told what had happened and telephoned Quyen Luong.

News of the tragedy hit hard in the small, middle-class neighborhood. It is an area typical of suburban Southern California: dominated by quiet cul-de-sacs where children play on bicycles and skateboards.

Neighbor Margarita Collins said the Luong family relied on a baby-sitter to take care of the children, especially 3-year-old Joanna.

“She was the cutest of the whole family. She was a doll,” said Collins’ daughter, Ruby Garcia, 15.

Others described both parents as friendly, yet somewhat distant. However, the Luong children had forged strong friendships with children who lived on the block and with schoolmates at nearby Melbourne A. Gauer Elementary School.

Lynda had garnered a reputation as an outstanding student who, according to one neighborhood youth, spent her free time reading “lots and lots of books.”

“She’s really the smart one, she was always reading a book,” said Sammy Jaramillo, 8, a playmate of David.

Jaramillo said he will be sad on Wednesday, when school resumes after a three-week break.

“David and I used to play on the swings together during recess at school. We would chase the girls and we would try to get all the girls, tagging them,” he said.

For Minar, the reality of Diana’s death was only slowly sinking in as she was surrounded by reporters Monday morning on her front lawn.

“I have no other friends,” Minar said. “This is terrible.”

Times staff writer David Reyes contributed to this article.