I watched him closely as he related this piece of evidence and there wasn’t a flicker of emotion. This is something a mother should never have to hear. It is simply unthinkable and unforgivable. Worse still is the way he gave that evidence. I despise Clayton Weatherston for what he did and what he said and all of it without any sign of remorse. It’s shocking to think that he could stab Sophie 40 times in one eye and 20 in the other. When he stabbed her in the chest his actions were so frenzied he basically severed her heart in two. Not satisfied at having killed her, he then continued to mutilate her. After she was dead, and God how we have hoped and prayed she was dead, he defiled her by cutting off her ears and nose, a nipple from her breast and parts around her genital area. As a final indignity he cut off some of her hair and laid it across her face. Sophie had beautiful long hair. Why he did this only he will know. At the subsequent trial, Sophie’s life, especially through her personal diary, was laid open for the world to see, courtesy of Weatherston’s defence. Why shouldn’t his unspeakable deeds be similarly open to scrutiny? As far as I am concerned, I want the world to know what this evil man did. And I think Sophie would also want people to know how callous he was. I apologise if the description of Sophie’s injuries has shocked or sickened you. But this is reality. Despite this he still applied for some photographs to be removed from the police court booklets on the grounds they might be prejudicial. He’s been found guilty so there can be no prejudicial effects any more.
As if we didn’t have enough to grieve over, the realisation that a post-mortem needed to be carried out on Sophie was simply awful. I know it is standard procedure for a forensic pathologist to establish the cause of death, but that doesn’t lessen the emotional impact on a victim’s family. It was patently obvious how Sophie died, so why was it necessary for her to suffer yet another indignity? That’s how we felt, and we still do. When we eventually read the post-mortem report we were shocked and dismayed. I knew Sophie’s killer had done a lot of damage. I had seen it. But nothing prepared us for the extent of the injuries and the way he defiled her body. As a nurse I have seen plenty of mortuary procedures although not a full post-mortem. However, I still have a good idea of what takes place. Gil has seen one performed during his medical laboratory training. I am sure many people are unaware of what takes place and perhaps ignorance is bliss. During a post-mortem the pathologist even removes and examines the brain. This was awful for us to bear.
The autopsy was carried out by a forensic pathologist from Christchurch and we were to find out later that his examination took a full eight hours. Had Sophie died in an accident, we know she would have wanted her vital organs to be donated to some desperate transplant recipients, but because of the way she died this wasn’t an option. Several people were therefore denied a chance at a better quality of life — or of life itself. We know the rationale for having a post-mortem and we know how important the police role is in investigating murder, but to us the post-mortem on Sophie remains an intrusion, a further indignity.
It’s strange how amid all the turmoil and deep hurt of such an awful situation you can take comfort from simple things, for instance the name the police chose for the investigation into Sophie’s murder. Every police district has a range of names they can use for major operations and the officer in charge of our case, Detective Senior Sergeant Kallum Croudis, chose Operation Dove. It seemed entirely appropriate, even though he didn’t know Sophie and had only briefly seen her when he went to the scene of her murder. While the police went about their painstaking job, which I am sure was distressing, we had to carry on. Sophie’s death came about so unexpectedly and in such a horrendous manner that we inevitably became reliant on friends, wider family members and professionals such as the police.
I appreciate that arranging a funeral can be a distressing time for anyone faced with the sudden loss of a loved one. With Sophie’s death it was made more difficult as we were denied access to our home. One of our immediate needs in those first few days was to organise a fitting funeral service for our daughter. Like most families who lose a child unexpectedly there has never been any prior thought about a funeral service. Perhaps as we get older and death inevitably draws closer, we might turn our minds to such things, but not for a healthy, vibrant 22-year-old. With our home out of bounds for a week or more, making arrangements was going to prove difficult, but not insurmountable. This is where Sophie’s best friends came to the fore, bless them. They sourced dozens of photographs of Sophie, depicting her many traits. Some were posed while out socialising; many were of Sophie on holiday or at the beach, others dancing or singing, and some candid ones of her studying. Several other photos showed her with her brothers, her father or me. And in every photo Sophie was flashing the beautiful infectious smile she was renowned for. When the photographs were displayed as a slide show on the big screen, accompanied by some of Sophie’s favourite music, it reminded us of the joy Sophie brought to all those around her. But it also reinforced in us the terrible loss of an exceptional young woman.
The service was held in the chapel of St Hilda’s Collegiate School in Dunedin, a place where Sophie spent seven very happy years. St Hilda’s is an integrated girls’ school of about 400 students, a third of whom are boarders. It was founded in 1896 and has a proud tradition and reputation as a school that promotes Christian values, educational excellence and high achievement. Sophie fitted in perfectly. To achieve at a school like that one has to be academically and socially adept. In her final year Sophie was joint proxime accessit — no mean feat and something I was enormously proud of. So we felt it was fitting she be farewelled in a place she loved and respected. Of course making funeral arrangements would be difficult on us but I had to spare a thought for the principal, Melissa Bell. In Sophie’s earlier years Melissa had been a teacher and knew Sophie very well. Melissa left St Hilda’s for another posting then returned to become principal at the time Sophie died. Here was Melissa, on her first day as principal, having to organise a funeral for one of her favourite ex-pupils. Melissa told me that day was without doubt the most horrific time she had had in her teaching career. To somehow make it seem even more unreal, Melissa and Sophie, who hadn’t seen each other for several years, had met up in a dress shop only days before the murder. Sophie was buying a new outfit for her first day at Treasury and Melissa was buying something special for her first day as St Hilda’s new principal. The two women spent a special time discussing their aspirations and excitement about their new roles. Helping with the arrangements must have been a terrible wrench for Melissa.
The funeral service was fitting, dignified and special to me and my family. Many friends, relatives and acquaintances came to farewell Sophie. We were going to choose a white coffin but then saw a blue casket adorned with mountain scenes — simply Sophie. At the conclusion of the service Sophie’s casket was carried out to the courtyard by her distraught brothers and four closest friends. It was there that mourners released 99 red balloons into the clear blue sky. Following the service, when we had all departed from St Hilda’s, Melissa stayed behind to tidy up. She found a single red balloon had not floated into the sky but instead had found its way into the nearby school library. Melissa took the balloon outside to release it but it gently floated back into the library.
Our family returned home for the first time in a week. A potluck meal was quickly arranged and it was taken outside where we shared each other’s company as best we could, but it was a terribly sad day. The house was finally released to us, the police having completed their crime scene examination. They had been there day and night and the house had been open all that time. The washing I had put out on that dreadful Wednesday morning was still hanging on the line. Thankfully the police had been wonderful, respectful and sensitive. Sophie’s room had been cleaned and the carpet replaced. Any traces of what Weatherston had done were gone, leaving just memories.
Some things happened that I can find no logical explanation for. For example, Sophie’s beloved cat Kade began to e
xhibit some very strange behaviour. The last time I had seen him he was in the lounge mooching around all the boxes Sophie and I were packing. While we were at the motel I had told the detective tasked with liaising with our family that Sophie’s cat would be somewhere around. ‘Don’t worry,’ he told me, ‘we look after animals.’ When we did finally return home Kade was so thin and he came rushing up as if to say, where the hell have you been? The police were diligently putting food out for him but the Siamese cat next door was obviously getting in first and helping itself. I always thought animals, particularly cats, have intuition and I noticed incredible changes in Kade’s behaviour in coming weeks. Before Sophie died Kade very rarely went upstairs, but on the occasions he did he would just sit outside Sophie’s room even if she was there. Following her death Kade began going into her room and I would find him either under her bed, or lying on the bed covers. He’d never done this before. And within a month this young cat that Sophie had adored was dead.
2
the downward spiral—
The first time I heard the name Clayton Weatherston was as I helped Sophie prepare for a trip to Wellington. She had interviews scheduled with the Ministry for Economic Development, the Reserve Bank and Treasury, and I offered to go and support her in the evenings. She was grateful that she would have company. It was as I was preparing for our four days away that Sophie first mentioned one of her lecturers, Clayton Weatherston, had offered to go to Wellington with her. I thought, how odd. Why would a lecturer offer to take a week off work to accompany a student to interviews? Sophie, however, thought it was a nice gesture and believed he genuinely went way beyond the call of duty to help his students. But even then something was telling me that this was unusual and later events reinforced my initial misgivings. Hindsight is a great thing but unfortunately it is something we don’t have when looking forward. As it transpired I doubt very much that had he gone with Sophie to Wellington she would have been given the job at Treasury. This was partly due to the fact that he, unlike me, wouldn’t have known just how to handle Sophie when she was under stress. She was a confident, capable young woman, but like many people her age the goals they set for themselves involve stress. But the other reason, and it only became evident towards the end, was that Weatherston had worked at Treasury some years before and his tenure didn’t last long. He told Sophie he had returned home due to homesickness, but I have since learned that he was less than popular. Other things about Weatherston that have since come to light cause me to believe his so-called ‘nice gesture’ had an ulterior motive.
Sophie announced she was seeing Weatherston soon after we returned from Wellington. I think the first time they had gone out was a few weeks earlier, after a study session of Sophie’s economics honours class. Clayton Weatherston was often in his office well into the evening, ostensibly to help students wherever he could. She had been working late and as neither had had dinner, Weatherston invited her out for a meal. That’s where it began. I must admit I was surprised at her choice of boyfriend, despite never having met him. She was a student, he a lecturer and there were professional boundaries to think about. Sophie hadn’t really considered the implications of a power imbalance. I explained to her how there could be allegations of favouritism should she continue gaining good marks in examinations. Would she gain an advantage from having a lecturer boyfriend? Sophie was reassuring, although in a naïve way: ‘I know what you mean, Mum, but Clayton knows all about that and told me all he has to do is report the relationship to the head of department.’ Despite feeling uncomfortable I was relieved by the fact he seemed to know the university policy. Even so it took him some time to finally get around to letting the head of department know. I advised Sophie to be careful and to especially consider what may happen if there was a falling-out. Once a relationship like that ends she would still have to see the person in class every day. Imagine what it might be like if a split was in any way acrimonious. As it turned out I discovered Sophie had written in her diary months later, ‘Oh my god. Mum was right.’
Within three weeks of their relationship beginning, cracks began to appear. This was a new phenomenon for Sophie as she had been in a long-term relationship prior to meeting Weatherston. After having had a lengthy, and for the most part happy, relationship, Sophie wasn’t emotionally equipped to deal with the things Weatherston threw at her. Whenever Sophie came home I would call out, ‘Hi, what sort of a day have you had?’ Most days she would be all bubbly and usually come into the dining room with a big smile and more often than not do a whirl around. Sophie was an enthusiastic dancer and it showed when she was excited or happy. Occasionally she would be more subdued, especially around exam time. I recall one day very early in her relationship with Weatherston when Sophie came in and stood at the end of the kitchen bench. I can’t remember exactly what it was she was saying but she was going on about him. After a while I said, ‘Stop.’ She looked at me quite surprised and said, ‘What?’ I told her that she’d been going out with this guy for only three weeks and she’d done nothing but complain about him. She didn’t want to admit it but I think she knew even in those early days that whatever it was she found appealing about him, he was going to be a difficult person to be with.
I believe he was self-centred. She used to complain that he would never answer text messages, was often late for date arrangements, not ringing her when he said he would — that kind of thing. He liked to drink and socialise yet the odd thing was he seldom ever asked Sophie to join in much of his socialising. Yet he expected her to pick him up from various events. Often she didn’t hear from him for days and when she did it was Sophie who had to fit in with his arrangements. As I said to Sophie, ‘Not a good start to a relationship.’
Winters in Dunedin can be severe but locals adapt to the conditions. One difficulty is driving on the steep hills in frost, but it’s a skill most people master. On one particular evening I left home about ten o’clock for my night shift at the hospital. It was a frosty night but I easily negotiated my way down the hill and back up again at 7.30 the next morning. When I came down the drive Clayton’s car was there and I was mad. Sophie and I had an arrangement where we respected each other’s privacy. This had never been an issue before. It was likely an occasion would arise where she might want someone to stay over, but if so I said we at least needed to talk about it first. That was our arrangement. At this point I felt what Sophie had with Clayton was still a casual relationship so why should I condone him staying over? I went to bed and slept until about lunchtime as I normally do after night shift. Sophie was not one to lie in and invariably would be up and about early. But not on this occasion. I could hear them talking in the bedroom so went downstairs and was in the kitchen when Sophie came down. I asked her straight why he was still here. She said she would explain later. Clayton then came down the stairs and stood in the hall where it was semi-dark and hard for me to make out his features. I really felt uncomfortable about meeting him for the first time in such circumstances. Sophie introduced me and we both said ‘hi’, but there was no other conversation before she saw him out. Sophie said she knew I would be angry but said she had no option as he claimed he was unable to drive on ice (although I had coped perfectly well). He also alluded to her being responsible for any accident he might have. Following this incident Sophie often referred back to it and intimated he’d virtually coerced her into letting him stay over. Regardless, I believe if he had any respect he would have been gone well before I got up. When I look back on this and other episodes, I do believe he was trying to control me as he controlled Sophie. Although I’d originally blamed Sophie for what happened, on reflection I do believe it was at his instigation and he was arrogant as to how it ended. So, not a good first meeting.
Already Sophie’s patterns of behaviour were changing. Communication between us had been excellent. If she was going to be late for a meal or late home she would always text. Because of the shifts I was working, we often didn’t see much of each other but left messages so
we knew things like meal times and if she’d be there. But once she began going out with Weatherston, communication became haphazard. I detected a fairly rapid change in Sophie. She seemed confused and centred too much of her attention on him. Yet days would go by where he never made contact with her — no phone call, no text, no dates. But when he wanted her she would oblige. I believe that he was unlike anyone she had known before. At the time Sophie was doing four honours papers and a dissertation so it is reasonable to assume she was highly stressed. Despite that, I still detected a personality change. By the very way he treated her, almost with disdain by not answering texts or being late for arranged dates, I expected Sophie to leave him. I don’t think she would have tolerated this from any other boyfriend. But with Clayton Weatherston it was somehow different.
From a mother’s perspective I gained the impression he was messing around with her mind. She would sometimes come home in tears, saying she would never see him again (even though that was unlikely as he lectured one of her papers). A week later she would say, ‘Mum, you’re not going to be very pleased, but Clayton wants me to give him another chance so we’re seeing each other again.’ I didn’t realise it then, but now see that this begging for another chance is a classic sign of an abusive person.
The more I got to know of Clayton Weatherston, the more I felt he was something of an enigma. On one hand he could be arrogant and controlling, the next polite. One evening Sophie asked if he could come over for dinner. While she chatted to another dinner guest, I spoke to Clayton and he seemed quite friendly. I was left with the impression that he was a family-orientated man and was fine. I now think that was something of a front — almost an act to get me to like or at least approve of him. The relationship between them lasted on and off for about five months, but in reality it was probably only ‘on’ for a couple of months. It was such an unusual arrangement that Sophie and I had a standing joke. She would come into the kitchen and I’d say, ‘What is it this week, on or off?’ She would laugh, but there was a serious side.
Sophie’s Legacy Page 3