Butcher Read Free

didn’t seem to matter to either of them. The cloud cover made it seem eerie as they turned off the highway and drove down Dominion Avenue, eventually approaching Pickton’s pig farm, but Wendy paid little mind, at that time, to her surroundings. After driving through the metal gate at the entrance to the farm, which resembled a desolated industrial area during the day, Pickton parked just outside his trailer, which was situated adjacent to the slaughterhouse. The two of them stumbled up the three short steps onto the porch and went inside, crack and crack pipe in hand.
    The interior of the trailer was filthy. It appeared nearly uninhabitable, with clothing, much of it women’s, scattered about, and occasional women’s accessories lying here and there amid the trash that looked like it had been there for a long time. The trailer also stank badly with an odor that Wendy could not discern, and she soon found herself wishing that she hadn’t gone there with Pickton. But it was too late now, and she realized that she would just have to make the best of it, get it over with, and then have Pickton drive her back to town.
    They turned left in the hallway near the trailer’s entrance, and passed by a room that Pickton used as an office. It was also filthy and in disarray. The desk was cluttered, and a stuffed horse’s head hung on the wall behind a watercooler off to one side. They passed a stereo located near the trailer’s entrance, and Pickton paused for a moment to turn it on, with the volume loud, as they made their way toward the bedroom. There were large, dark stains embedded into the badly soiled carpet at various locations, but Pickton didn’t seem at all concerned about showing his guest how filthily he lived. Once they reached the bedroom, they removed their clothing and began various forms of sex play; at one point Pickton bound Wendy with a pair of fur-lined handcuffs. Afterward, satisfied that he had the young woman under his control, the sex play began to turn somewhat rough. But that’s what Wendy was there for, and at first she didn’t mind too much.
    A little later, however, after releasing Wendy from her much-used bindings, Pickton became even rougher, and his demeanor turned maniacal. Out of seemingly nowhere he pulled out “a brown-handled knife,” and Wendy suddenly became horrified at the sight of the knife’s blade. She began screaming. Out in the middle of a several-acre farm, and inside a trailer where the music was blasting, no one could hear her—and she knew it. Pickton seemed to revel at her obvious fear, and he began stabbing her repeatedly with the knife. Pickton’s voice became elevated and eerily shrill, which served to terrify Wendy even more. At one point, after sustaining several serious stab wounds, some of which were to her abdomen, Wendy managed a show of strength and broke free from Pickton’s grip, mustering enough energy to turn the tables on her attacker. After a violent struggle she wrested the knife away from Pickton and stabbed him with it. Satisfied that she had bought some time for herself, Wendy, half-naked, staggered out of Pickton’s trailer and made her way toward Dominion Avenue.
    It was about 1:45 A.M . when Wendy reached the street, blood gushing out of her stomach wounds. According to a police report taken later, Wendy was picked up by a couple driving along the dark road. After loading her into the backseat, minutes later they flagged down a police officer who arranged to have the injured woman taken to the Royal Columbian Hospital in nearby New Westminster, a Vancouver suburb, where she was treated for deep stab wounds to her torso. Similarly, Pickton drove to another hospital, where he was treated for the stab wound inflicted by his victim.
    Fortunately, Wendy Eistetter survived her violent encounter with Robert Pickton. She had been one of the lucky ones—many others were not. Pickton also survived, both medically and legally. Although Pickton had been