I drove back to Dunedin and Dad headed off for Central and I was alone. A culmination of activities, lots of people and tiredness should have seen me go to bed early but I didn’t. By 9pm I was simply beside myself. I got your dressing gown, which I purposely haven’t washed as it smells of you, and rolled it up and took it to bed. It’s a poor substitute for you to hug. I just couldn’t stop crying yet had taken my pills and a diazepam. At 9.45 I couldn’t take it any more and in desperation I called Gill, my victim support volunteer. I felt awful calling her out, but she came and we talked. I calmed down more or less. This has to have been one of my worst nights. Cuddling your dressing gown has helped and I know you probably think I’m nuts but it seems like I get comfort and feel closer to you.
At 6am when I should have been getting up, I decided I just couldn’t go to work and rang in sick. I hate doing this as I know it puts pressure on other staff to cover for me, but I need to be safe. I was drained after last night. Gill rang me again tonight. I wished I hadn’t got her out at such an abominable hour but I was absolutely desperate and she said she was available any time. Hope I don’t have to do that again. I feel pathetic.
I managed a couple of days’ work. Today is Nick’s birthday, he says it’s 24+10 — doesn’t sound so bad.
Dad has gone on and on about the post-mortem report. Today I suggested he ring Kallum and make arrangements to read it in his office, which Kallum said he could. I wanted Dad to take someone with him and suggested David Laing. We probably won’t tell the boys as it’s too disturbing and they don’t need to know the details unless they really want to. When Dad and David came home they were obviously shaken. I’m glad I haven’t read it yet but I will do so after the trial. You know we are the sort of people who need to know everything.
Clayton Weatherston is an arrogant bastard. Coming into court in a suit and tie and writing the whole time when he’s done the most heinous of crimes. Dad and I have talked about this and if it takes our last bit of energy or breath, he is NEVER going to be free. How can an ‘educated, intelligent’ person do what he did to someone as beautiful as you? Just goes to show God might be losing the battle against the devil.
I had a call from Kallum about the pre-trial, but I can’t remember what I was going to say about it! I think I must be brain dead, maybe too much crying.
So wish I could talk to you, Soph. This is the hardest thing to cope with. You would put your arms around me and say, it’s okay, Mum, we can do this. Anyway I’ve now remembered what Kallum’s call was about. He said, ‘Don’t get excited but the trial might be in November.’ Maybe Weatherston will plead guilty, but he’s probably going to milk this attention for all it’s worth.
I’ve been out to Clyde, but Central has lost its gloss. It’s nice being there as it still feels like a diversion and is peaceful but I no longer want to ride my bike — too many memories of you and me riding together. You’d always do a couple of circuits of Clyde to my one, but that wasn’t surprising. It was fun though. We’d talk for a while then you’d pedal off and come back a bit later. Remember when we rode to Muttontown bridge on the trail and I fell off? You just sailed on because you were ahead of me and didn’t hear my calls for help. It bloody hurt, Soph. I don’t know what happened. I guess I had a lapse of concentration and lost my balance and fell onto the bridge rail. My knees hit the handlebars — ouch! The two of us enjoyed the outdoors, but with you gone so has the appeal.
The proxime accessit cup at St Hilda’s will now be called The Sophie Kate Elliott Proxime Accessit Award. We gave them $500 of your money to start off the award. Melissa Bell talked to me for a while and reminisced about your schooling and ballet. She’s a lovely person. Then she gave me a framed photo of the ‘lady in red’, that gorgeous photo of you taken on stage. I have hung it in the dining room above our TV. I can’t look at it without waves of disbelief coming over me. There is another, even larger print of the same photograph in the St Hilda’s college foyer. I bet the staff who knew and loved you are also in disbelief.
Today I had an open house for my lovely work colleagues, who wanted to see the quilt they had made for your bed. I provided soup and muffins and a nice warm fire. Quite a number came during the afternoon. Several made comments to me afterwards about how warm your room felt. I appreciated that. I think many had felt silently that they couldn’t understand how we could go on living here after your death. I told them the house and your room had been blessed and as far as I was concerned I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. After all, your room was your favourite place and is full of memories of you. It felt good to have them call and admire their handiwork.
An amazing day today. A plaque and planting of a southern rata tree was organised in the Arthur Street School grounds. Although it is now many years since you attended primary school, it was deemed appropriate to honour you in this way. People had been asked to bring memorabilia so I made up three posters of school life, photos of you and your primary school friends. It was hard to do as it meant I had to go through our albums, hence a lot more tears. I picked out photos of you and your brothers through the ages. I started with the one of Chris and Nick standing by my hospital bed in their dressing gowns looking at you in my arms. Chris said at your funeral he remembers all the pretty dresses you had and as I looked through the albums I remembered them too. Doing this brought back many happy memories, but emptiness as well. For a change there was no media present and we could relax among friends. You probably don’t remember Beth but her father is now the minister at the Presbyterian church in Roslyn. He said a prayer for you and gave a blessing, which of course brought on more tears. When will they stop? Why do we have to live without you?
The call-over (pre-trial) hearing began today at ten o’clock. No sooner had proceedings got under way than Mrs Ablett-Kerr asked for me and one other witness to leave. I wasn’t going to make a fuss; it wasn’t worth it. She then had the court cleared. Someone told me that she was quite ferocious even to the judge, who at one stage said to her, ‘This might be what you would do in other courts, Mrs Ablett-Kerr, but not in my court.’
Kallum briefed us on what had happened. Mrs Ablett-Kerr wanted, among other things, a change of venue from Dunedin (no reason given yet), some or all of Constable John Cunningham’s evidence suppressed, and she doesn’t want the 111 call played as it was too prejudicial to her client!
So now we wait again.
We went to Christchurch for the weekend before flying to Melbourne on Monday for Chris’s thirtieth birthday. Grandma likes to talk about you but gets upset easily, as I do. Neither Grandma nor Grandad can understand what’s happened. And neither can we.
Off to Melbourne via Jetstar. A good flight but boring as ever. Dad had arranged for a rental car with GPS. I thought he was mad. I think it’s much more fun on trams and trains. Despite the GPS we still managed to get lost. We did our usual wandering around, but I didn’t really want to shop. You’d be ashamed of me, Soph. Not much fun without you. I’ve lost confidence in buying clothes. Don’t know why. I always bought my own clothes before but guess I always had you to approve or not. Doesn’t seem to matter any more and yet I know you wouldn’t want me to lose interest in how I look.
Nick flew in to be with us and it was great being together again. I’d brought some balloons from home and we put up a ‘Happy 30th Birthday’ banner. Secretly I think it was hard for all of us. We don’t really feel happy, but you would have wanted us to celebrate.
You’ll be pleased to know Anna is in town. I made arrangements to pick her up by your uni plaque and when I got there she was crying her heart out. I said to her, this makes it real. She so wanted to get back for your funeral but no flights could get her here in time and I think she feels that deeply. She came home with me and we went to your room to look at photos. It was really good and she is such a nice person. You and she would have been really mischievous together.
Had lunch with Noeline and Daphne (dear friends) then out to see the Rev Helen Mann. She will in
ter your ashes when we are ready. She’s a lovely lady, so caring. I spilled all to her including plenty of tears.
Dear Soph, a new year for us all.
This is the first anniversary of your tragic death and I still can’t think back to that day without tears coming to my eyes. I simply have no words to describe how I feel. I couldn’t even bring myself to make a diary note about Christmas, knowing how much this time of year meant to you. Understandably there was no joy and nothing to celebrate. New Year meant nothing either, just an emptiness and here we are at the first anniversary. I can’t help but reflect on what happened, why it happened and how a human being could stoop to such depravity. And we can’t even begin to understand because the wait for justice goes on. A whole year has passed and we still have no idea when a trial will take place. I’m finding this waiting so cruel.
Uncle Dave, Ann, Michaela and Grandma have come down and we had a lovely Remembrance Day. Your plaque has been polished and the memorial site adorned with flowers, candles and a single red balloon. And Father Mark, one of the university chaplains, arrived with a basket of petals to scatter. You would have been proud at how many people came to remember you, probably 50 or 60 including a large group from the economics department. At 12.30, exactly one year since you died, we stood silently for a minute and during that time all I could hear were your screams going through my head. Those sounds have never left me and I doubt they ever will.
Father Mark invited people to come forward, scatter some petals and say one single word that they felt epitomised you, words like vibrant, brilliant, fun, camera.
After the closing prayer people were invited back home for finger food and drinks. You wouldn’t believe the cards, emails, flowers and messages we received. People haven’t forgotten you, Soph. Claire Brown arrived soon after everyone had gone and gave us communion in your room. I asked her to bless the two silver goblets we had bought for your graduation, one each for the boys to have. A small reminder of your achievements.
I mentioned to Chris that I needed spiritual guidance and he asked where was God when Sophie was being killed? How do you answer that, Soph? I guess evil overtook God that day. I feel so unsure now whether there is life after death, or is it all a big con? I’m having difficulty with the Christian belief of forgiveness for I will NEVER forgive Clayton for what he did to you. If I can’t forgive, and there is life after death, will God let me in? If He doesn’t will this mean I’ll never see you again? I am totally confused.
Today there have been some special moments but it still has been a very sad day and simply reflects what has been a truly horrendous year without you. I miss you, Sophie.
Love, Mum
4
sophie kate elliott—
Who was Sophie Elliott? The defence representing Weatherston at his trial would have you believe many things — that Sophie was an overly ambitious young woman who had to have things her way, or that she had multiple partners before Weatherston, implying she had loose morals. One isolated incident with a previous long-term partner was blown out of all proportion to make it look as if Sophie had a volatile nature and would frequently strike out. This was designed to give credence to Weatherston’s ridiculous claim that Sophie attacked him with scissors on that tragic day, therefore ‘justifying’ his use of the knife he had brought with him. I say ridiculous because if there was even a semblance of truth in the assertion, wouldn’t Weatherston have mentioned this when the arresting constable asked him why had he killed Sophie? No mention of scissors then or at the depositions hearing. It was only raised as a possible defence at the trial 18 months after Sophie died. Sophie had such a sweet, gentle and forgiving nature the thought of her attacking him is ludicrous and repugnant. But the defence would imply this fabrication had some substance. How? By using Sophie’s diary entries. This still astounds me. Because of Weatherston’s actions, everything about Sophie was opened up to public scrutiny. I still struggle with the unfairness of that.
During the police investigation everything becomes evidence. Nothing remains confidential. The law, as we have it, requires the police to disclose everything they discover to the defence — absolutely everything. Sophie kept an electronic diary where, as you might expect of a young woman, she detailed her innermost thoughts and emotions. A diary of the type Sophie kept is helpful for young people to figure out what feels right and what feels wrong, what is good and what is bad. Diary entries are a great way to crystallise our thinking as we negotiate our way safely through the emotional minefield life can be, especially for a girl in search of womanhood. The entries were for Sophie alone — not for the world to see.
After Sophie died it took me ages to bring myself to look at the police transcript of her diary. Perhaps it would be good for Sophie to have the last say, to counter some of Weatherston’s assertions and show them for what they are. One of his arguments when he was on the stand was that he was ‘enslaved’ by Sophie, she was his uptown girl and he was her downtown man. He talked of entries in Sophie’s diary that had been produced in court and said in part, ‘I think she fervently wanted to have an interesting life and part of that was engaging in an element of melodrama.’ He also said her diary entry claims about him were fantasy.
I have resisted the strong temptation to use some of Sophie’s diary entries to show Clayton Weatherston for what he is. Many aspects of this whole tragic affair have been distressing — witnessing my daughter being killed, the long wait for justice and the agony of having to relate this in court, and those terribly dark and lonely days after Sophie died. However, one of the hardest things I’ve had to do is search through her diary trying to make sense of what happened; looking for entries that counter that man’s claims. This wasn’t easy and I couldn’t read those diary entries without a box of tissues close at hand. I’ve cried buckets over what I was reading, partly because of the content, but mainly because I felt I was prying. Sophie and I had a close and open relationship and she confided in me over many issues. Sometimes I would say, ‘Too much information, Soph!’ But her diary is private — sacrosanct in fact. In the end I decided not to use her diary entries in this book, even to justify things or to counter Weatherston’s arguments. I have always believed that her diary should never become public property. It would be hypocritical of me to use it now (apart from those things the Crown or defence put into the public domain). I have vowed never to read Sophie’s diary again and when Weatherston’s appeal is finally over, I will consign the transcript to the fire. Having made this decision I feel a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Sophie would never have wanted anyone to read her personal thoughts and I am going to respect that.
However, the criminal justice system favours the rights of the accused so the defence team had to be given access to Sophie’s diary. And that means through them her murderer also got access to her thoughts. I can’t accept that. Perhaps I could understand the reasoning if the defence only had the entries covering the five months of the relationship, but why should Weatherston and his lawyers be given access to what Sophie wrote for the three or four years she kept her diary? I don’t believe that’s fair and I don’t think right-minded people would either. And I abhor the way a single entry can be taken out of context and used to darken
Sophie’s character. I’ll give one such example. Sophie had been in a long-term relationship with a young man she had met when they were in their last years at high school. I can’t use his name because there is a name suppression order still in force: I will call him Gary. They met each other through a mutual interest and when he wanted a partner for a school formal Sophie went with him. The friendship flourished and they went out together for some time, eventually becoming partners. They lived in our home with us for about a year and we got on well. When they finally moved into a flat of their own, they seemed settled and happy. Both Sophie and Gary were intelligent, strong-willed young people. If something caused a disagreement they would both stand their ground and argue the point. One night they did have a heated e
xchange and Sophie accidentally scratched his neck. It was no big deal, but Sophie was mortified and in tears. She hadn’t meant to do it and regretted it immediately. She recorded this in her diary and at the trial it was brought up by the defence. Their line was that Sophie was prone to attacking boyfriends who annoyed her; therefore she could easily have attacked Weatherston in her bedroom following what the defence claimed was an argument over Sophie not liking Weatherston’s mother. I have said before, Sophie’s bedroom is directly above the kitchen. Even if she and Weatherston were talking normally, I would have heard them. An argument would have certainly registered with me.
Gary wasn’t called as a witness but his name was mentioned in the carefully selected diary entry. Later on he told me about the scratch. He said that he and Sophie had got into a verbal argument with him going on and on at her, even making a rather vile reference to one of Sophie’s friends. He certainly wasn’t surprised when Sophie lashed out after several hours of being harangued, and after she did she was desperately sorry. The image of Sophie attacking him just because she was angry is very hurtful to us. That was not the Sophie we knew and that was not the Sophie Gary knew either. But that is the sort of young woman the defence would have us believe Sophie was. I have read the full diary entry Sophie wrote about this incident and the defence were careful to only produce that part of the entry that showed Sophie in the light they wanted her to be portrayed.
Clayton Weatherston took the stand during his trial. Because there were several adjournments and early finishes over the week-long process, I suppose he gave evidence on his own behalf for two and a half to three days. He spent some time explaining his achievements and interests and also talked a lot about his personality and insecurities. But much of the time was spent demonising Sophie and insisting she was the instigator of all his problems. It was almost as if it were Sophie on trial. In doing so Weatherston said some hurtful things; hurtful to me, my family, Sophie’s friends, and most devastatingly, to Sophie’s memory. I find it hard to believe the things Weatherston said about her could provoke him to the degree he would lose control and kill her. There were often heated exchanges between Robin Bates and Weatherston during cross-examination. He even said, ‘Were you not listening, Mr Bates? Are you lying, Mr Bates?’ and dismissed one line of questioning by replying, ‘I can’t believe we are talking about this. You are really scraping the barrel.’
Sophie’s Legacy Page 8