Sophie went to see her Spectrum friends, who offered to take her to the police station to make a complaint of assault. She was undecided and, once she calmed down, realised she had no injuries and it would come down to her word against his. She would be out of town in a week and would never see him again so chose to try to put it behind her. When Sophie got home I called out as usual ‘How are you?’ She burst into tears and said, ‘You’ll not believe what happened.’ She told me of the incident and how frightening Clayton had been, in fact very scary. She said that she was shaking and hyperventilating on realising he was following her to her car. I was horrified at what she told me and suggested we report it to the police. We talked at length about what had happened, how it was the word of one against the other and in the end I agreed with her. She was about to leave town and any influence Weatherston had she could put behind her. In hindsight how I wish we had taken the matter further. I tried to rationalise whether this was the first time he’d acted like this with a woman. What was it in Sophie he hated so much or was there some power he held over young women? He claimed to have had 25 girlfriends and I wondered how many of them he had treated with such disdain and aggression. Sophie pleaded with me not to tell her father about the incident in Weatherston’s flat. She said he would only make a fuss and with all that was ahead she didn’t want to have more complications. I agreed but thought I would tell him after Sophie was settled in Wellington. I was still nervous about the situation and had Sophie not been moving away, I’m sure I would have pressed her to make a complaint.
I think it is relevant at this point to reveal the circumstances of another incident I became aware of regarding Weatherston’s irrational behaviour. One evening in mid-2010, Gil had been visiting friends to watch an All Black test match. As he would be having a few drinks I dropped him there and he was going to get a taxi back. When he arrived home he said he’d just had an amazing discussion with the woman cab driver. I have since spoken to the driver, Maggie, and this is what she told me:
One Saturday night in 2010 I was sent to an Opoho address to pick up a fare by the name of Elliott. Taxi drivers meet so many people that names don’t mean much to us, but this name kind of made me curious. The name Elliott is significant in my family. My father’s Christian name is Elliott and it was my grandmother’s maiden name. As we neared Ravensbourne it dawned on me that the man beside me was Sophie’s father. A couple of years ago I had picked up Sophie and that particular fare is one of my more vivid memories.
On a very wet night in November 2007 I received a call to pick up a passenger from the student area by the name of Sophie. As I arrived this young woman came running along the path, closely followed by a clearly angry man. He was making gestures with his hands and obviously threatening. Sophie jumped into the cab and closed the door. The man leaned over the front of my car with his face close to the windscreen. I’ve been driving taxis for a long time and have seen all sorts of people, some nice and some nasty. This fellow was definitely creepy and sent a shiver down my spine. He wasn’t shouting or anything like that, which probably made me feel even more uncomfortable, but he was very frightening. During the incident this fellow was so focused on Sophie that he seemed unaware of my presence, but I won’t forget the look in his eyes. Sophie was shaking and quite terrified at this outburst and I wasted no time in leaving.
I said to Sophie, ‘Don’t tell me that guy is your boyfriend.’ She said he was an ex. We got talking, as cabbies and passengers do, and Sophie told me about him and some of his controlling habits like checking her mobile for texts and phone calls. She was a bubbly little thing with a great smile, and although she seemed to relax, it was obvious she had been quite terrified. This incident was so significantly different to most other incidents that I even mentioned it to family members the next day.
When I saw Weatherston’s photo in the newspaper after Sophie’s murder I knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that he was the crazy man I’d seen threatening Sophie.
New Year came and went with Sophie spending time with her friends and saying her many goodbyes. By Monday, 7 January 2008 Sophie was beginning to panic. In four days she was scheduled to fly to Wellington and there was still much to do. Luckily I had the week off work so could help out, though I was feeling pretty fragile. I was so pleased Sophie had landed a prestigious job and was making her way in the world, but I was going to miss her terribly. She was running out of boxes to pack her possessions so she went into town for more. On the way she wanted to call in and see her dissertation supervisor, Dr Robert Alexander, and leave him a bottle of wine in acknowledgement for the tremendous support he had been. Although Robert wasn’t there due to it being holiday time, Sophie wanted to leave the small gift in his office. As she walked down the corridor she had to go past Weatherston’s office. Unfortunately he was there talking to two of Sophie’s classmates in the doorway. They saw her and said ‘hi’ and almost immediately Weatherston said, ‘Sophie, come into my office. We need to talk.’ On entering, he closed the door and wrapped his arms around her. Sophie began shaking and he asked her why. She just lost it and put one arm across his throat and a hand over his mouth. She screamed at him that this is what he did to her the previous week and that is why she was frightened. She told him her friends and her mother had urged her to go to the police. He pushed her roughly away and said that she had now assaulted him and he could justifiably go to the police and lay a complaint. Sophie rushed out of his office and down a flight of stairs. On the landing he shoved her hard and it was just by the grace of God she didn’t fall. Turning to Clayton, she said, ‘What did you do that for?’ to which he replied, ‘I am trying to give you my hate,’ gesturing with his hands as he spoke. The incident was accompanied by him shouting and other people in the department heard him, but no one tried to intervene. When Sophie arrived home she was shaking and in tears. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ she asked me. ‘Why does he hate me so much?’ It took her some time to compose herself before going back to packing.
Although Sophie was naturally apprehensive about leaving family and friends I could sense she was desperately keen to see the last of Clayton Weatherston. That night she went to a student hotel for a karaoke night with friends. The karaoke session was recorded, the last recording of Sophie having fun. I still have a copy of the DVD and watching it brings me to tears.
Tuesday, 8 January and things certainly didn’t go according to plan. Although Sophie was up early packing and making lists of things to do, an episode with her car threw plans into chaos. She wanted to see if Robert was back at the university, but on the way into town her car broke down. A local helped push it to the side of the road and offered her a ride to the university. Sophie was able to talk to Robert and confided in him about the assault and how Weatherston had almost pushed her down the stairs. Sophie then sent me a text to pick her up from the garage where we had arranged for her car to be towed.
The next day was her last day at home before the big move and we both knew that Wednesday, 9 January would be a busy one. Unfortunately it became the day that changed my life forever.
3
‘any use to you?’—
Can you possibly imagine what life was like in that first year following the death of our daughter in such horrible circumstances? Until it happens to you it is simply impossible to comprehend. Negotiating some frighteningly dark days was not easy, and it still isn’t. Not only did I have to contend with the terrible images I had seen, I also needed to rationalise things in my mind; to try to make sense of what happened and why. And to deal with the guilt and recriminations I found myself wrestling with — the ‘what ifs’. Could I have prevented him coming into the house? Should I have refused him entry even though Sophie reluctantly agreed to talk to him? When Sophie screamed, should I have taken a weapon upstairs, perhaps a poker from beside the fireplace? And when I saw him straddling Sophie, should I have attempted to drag him off rather than fleeing? Maybe I sensed myself in danger, or perhaps I realised it was
too late by then to save her. I don’t know. There are no easy answers, only lots of questions. Even now, more than three years since Sophie died, I still search for answers. If there is any comfort at all, and it’s cold comfort, it is that Sophie died in her own room. I know police investigators surmise that if Weatherston had not killed Sophie there, he may well have followed her to Wellington. It would have been even worse had he attacked her in some secluded place far away from home.
To help me clear my mind and find some explanations, I needed a method, something to un-jumble the thoughts that kept sweeping over me. And it was Sophie herself who provided me with the perfect way. In my study I found an unused exercise book sitting on my desk with a note from Sophie: ‘Any use to you?’ She must have put it there shortly before she died, for it certainly wasn’t there earlier in the day. To me it almost seemed to be her saying, ‘Mum, I want you to record my story.’ So I decided to write down events as they happened. Finding it difficult to simply record these events with the feelings I had inside me, I began to write diary-type entries as if they were letters to Sophie. The diary contains many of my thoughts and feelings as we headed from shock and grief towards some very black times. What I went through during the first year after witnessing Sophie’s death is something I wouldn’t wish on anyone — except for the one obvious exception. I hope people will forgive me for having unchristian-like thoughts about him.
I have selected a number of random entries from my diary. Some of my thoughts to Sophie are too private to share with anyone, or simply too painful for me to write about. But this selection might give readers a better insight into how murder impacts on families. I hope people will then be able to understand just how traumatic it can be. I believe that most people don’t have that understanding and I can say that confidently because I used to be one of them.
My dearest Soph,
Yes, I’m going to be like you and keep a diary. Maybe it will seem like ramblings but I need to talk to you and this is the best I can do.
I miss you so much as I know Dad and the boys do, but it is different for me. You were my daughter, my best friend, my adviser and confidante. I loved and admired you and even though I have Dad and the boys it’s not quite the same as the relationship we had.
Dad has been great. I know he’s hurting heaps, but it’s hard for me because I can’t console him as much as I should. We saw the boys off to Australia at the airport and I can’t describe how difficult that was. Chris left on Thursday. He doesn’t know how he will ever play and write again. I told him he needs to do it for you because you loved his music and his talent so much. Nick left on Friday and he too is unsure how he will cope. He says he just feels empty.
The victim support lady we have is called Gill and she’s going to arrange some help for Chris in Melbourne, and Nick in Sydney. They may never use the service but at least it is there.
When we got to the airport check-in with Chris, the lady at the counter said, ‘I’m sorry to hear about your sister,’ and she meant it. Then a steward on the plane introduced himself and said the same thing. People you wouldn’t believe have been so kind. You thought you didn’t have a lot of friends but you have. Tons of them, as we do. We’ve had so many flowers and cards.
We are all trying hard to be brave but the bottom line is you were a HUGE part of our lives. You really have gone at only 22. My question is WHY? We weren’t fussed about Clayton, but never in a million years would I have thought him capable of murder. Why did he hate you so much, not only to kill you, but to mutilate you afterwards?
Uncle Dave came with me to the funeral home and although Clayton had done some terrible things to you, the people at Hope’s had done a remarkable job. Your brothers wanted you to be dressed in your own clothes so I chose that lovely red crossover dress and a black lace camisole of mine. While I looked at you I kept thinking you would open your eyes and talk, but that didn’t happen.
Dad came to see you the next day, which I was pleased about so we could share the last images of you. I placed in your coffin a small Care Bear, a letter from me, two Marilyn Monroe pictures and the one of Vivien Leigh that you bought in Melbourne, along with flowers and a card. I put a bunch of lavender in your hands. I so wished you would be alive again.
I’m so sorry Sophie. We came home last night to discover the neighbours had Kade inside in a box. One of their children had picked him up off the road. He wasn’t obviously injured, but could barely stand up and looked awful (we thought he’d had a heart attack). It was 9.30pm but we rang the emergency vet and were able to take him to the surgery. The vet was very nice and gave him a good examination, but couldn’t find anything obviously wrong. But he was most unwell. She said she could put a drip in and give him fluids but there was no guarantee he’d pull through. Honestly he looked almost unconscious, eyes glazed, really fast breathing. She gave us a few minutes to decide whether to carry on with the treatment or put him to sleep. Had he been fit and healthy we might have opted to try further, but he didn’t have any reserves. We reluctantly decided to have him put to sleep. The vet shaved some hair off his front leg and I held him while she injected him. Within seconds he was gone. It was awful for us and I feel I’ve let you down, but he went so peacefully — no pain. Today Dad dug a grave where your pet mice are buried, put Kade’s blanket in and laid him on top. We have added his name to the cross. You would have cried as we did. ‘RIP Kade.’ I guess he’s in cat heaven — maybe close to you.
One month today since we’ve seen you. I feel so responsible it is unbearable at times and I just want to cry out for someone to help us.
Soph,
I’m struggling to keep up this diary business — don’t know how you managed. Today has been a bad day. I just can’t stop looking at photos of you and thinking how much we have lost. You were so pretty. I loved your hair and was so envious of your figure. I so wanted to be part of your life, men, marriage, babies. I had even kept all your baby clothes and toys for when you had children of your own.
Next week we have Weatherston’s hearing. Bet he’ll come across all arrogant as usual. Apparently he’s been in solitary confinement due to threats from the prisoners. Good. I have no Christian thoughts about him at all. I think you were the first person to challenge him, Soph. Intellectually he might have been found as being not as clever or bright as he made out. I’ve heard from someone at Treasury that he was no end of trouble, always complaining. If he hadn’t left of his own free will I wonder how long he would have lasted. You believed he was going to ruin your chances at Treasury. Now it seems he was more worried you were going to find out about him and he couldn’t stand that.
This afternoon Detective Mike Bracegirdle came to update us. Not much news except Clayton fired his lawyer and got a QC (we don’t know who yet).
The university chaplain came up about organising a memorial service and tree planting. Sounds nice and honourable, but I would much rather have you. Dad and I watched some of the video of your funeral. Another flood of tears. I will never get used to you not being here. It just overwhelms me that I cannot envisage never seeing you again.
I worked eight hours today, wasn’t too bad but had to make a big effort not to cry when I looked at little babies and reflected on how much you wanted a family.
Dad worked — he feels his heart’s not in it any more.
Soph,
I have to keep missing pages to fill them in later. Can’t keep up your pace. God, I wish you were here. I cry every day and in fact I really want to scream and scream just like you did when Clayton was killing you. I’m up to the eyeballs on drugs so at least I sleep. Chris tells me he can’t sleep and when he does he dreams of you. Your darling bro. Nick has a spiritual contact with you and this helps him greatly, I think. For all of us you are constantly in our thoughts.
Lunchtime we met the chaplain and groundsman to decide on your tree. You would be impressed. It’s a cherry blossom — looking very healthy and just by the Archway. Anyone walking to the commerce build
ing has to go right past it. There will be a plaque. I’ll take a photo.
Court at last. Believe it or not but rellies came from all over. You would be so pleased, Soph, your friends were all there for you as well. I so wish you could know how much everyone cares.
Dad insisted we see the Crown prosecutor, Robin Bates. Apparently this is not usually done, but we wanted him to see you have a family who cares.
After the judge came in he called for Weatherston. Ah yes, not looking so chipper now, very pale, especially around the eyes. He looked at the judge the whole time and never once looked in my direction.
Then the fun started. Two lawyers stood up — Len Anderson, Weatherston’s original legal aid lawyer, and Mrs Judith Ablett-Kerr QC. She said she’d been asked by the family to represent him. Anyway there was a bit of an argument and the judge did not look at all impressed. He adjourned the hearing until next Thursday for them to sort out legal representation. Robin Bates did manage to get a date set for depositions on 26 May, however. This is like a mini trial when they see if there is a prima facie case. I was furious; prima facie evidence! I saw him stabbing you!
Afterwards we all went to a local café for coffee and it was good to be together.
It’s Orientation Week so lots of students are about which reminds me of you — can’t win.
Why aren’t you here? I was so looking forward to having you around in my old age. To helping you with your children. I can’t believe you have gone at the tender age of 22. Life was just beginning for you. We had so much to look forward to. It all seems unreal and so totally unfair. Why you?
Soph,
Sophie’s Legacy Page 5