Welcome, my heathens welcome. Today, we’re diving into the murky depths of one of Canada’s most infamous cases. But before we unmask the monster, you know we need to set the scene. So, close your eyes, but not if you’re driving, but picture it: Vancouver, British Columbia, late 1990s to early 2000s. A city renowned for its breathtaking natural beauty nestled between the Pacific Ocean and the majestic Coast Mountains. It’s a place where you can sip artisanal coffee while watching the rain drizzle softly on cobblestone streets; and the absolutely perfect backdrop for a tale as dark as this one.
Now, let’s zoom in a bit. Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside – an area famous for its vibrant culture and infamous for its rampant poverty, addiction, and crime. Here, the streets are lined with a mix of historic buildings and the soul of those society often forgets. It’s a place where hope and despair walk hand in hand. Our story, however, takes us just a bit further – to the rural suburb of Port Coquitlam. Ah, Port Coquitlam, where the air is thick with the smell of manure, and the local pig farmer, Robert Pickton, is more concerned with what’s buried in his backyard than with hosting barn dances. Rolling green fields, quaint farmhouses, and a certain pig farm that, in hindsight, had more skeletons in its closet than an overworked Halloween store. But it wasn’t just any pig farm. This was the infamous Pickton property, a sprawling 17-acre lot that seemed like any other – until you dug a little deeper. Literally.
