Sophie’s Legacy

by Lesley Elliot

  In the months before Sophie’s death she became a very close friend of her workmate Erin, and there was no doubt they had a bond that was unlikely to ever be broken. Sophie’s death hit Erin very hard. Her recall of Sophie contains some particularly significant insights:

  I only joined the Spectrum team a year before Sophie died and she was already working there part time. Despite Sophie being really busy with study for an honours degree, she still had time for friendships. If you invited her anywhere you could be sure she would turn up. Often it would just be hanging out, doing nothing but talking and laughing. With Sophie you didn’t need an excuse, no party or lunch, or coffee; she would just come over to my house and talk for ages. She was a great talker.

  Sophie could be relied on. Yes, she was sometimes late to work on a Saturday morning when she knew I was in charge, but her hair was always perfect and she would have hardly dropped her bag to the floor before she was out the door again to get our McDonald’s orders to cure our mild hangovers. And yes, it was always 10 minutes after the scheduled time for a gathering at my place for Saturday after-work drinks that Sophie would arrive, always with a box of scorched almonds in hand. She could be relied on for serious matters, to be a loyal and supportive friend.

  One thing about Sophie that I really came to admire was her honesty. She would tell you the most embarrassing and intimate things about herself to make you feel better about yourself. If you had done something stupid or if you felt embarrassed, Sophie could match it with something about herself so as not to make you feel so bad. And you could tell her your own self-indulgent version and she would never belittle you for it. She had a great way of putting things into perspective. She was funny and could make a joke out of everything just to ease any tension. However, when Sophie’s quick wit became no match for mine she would flick her hair as though in a Pantene commercial and point her nose in the air. Who could argue with that?

  It was her positive personality that made people enjoy her company. Despite her self-evident beauty and academic ability there was nothing about Sophie that was intimidating. I always felt confident she saw everyone as equal and made no comparisons in our friendship. She was eager to learn from everybody, whatever their area of expertise.

  It was a running joke among our friends that in the presence of attractive men we must take turns at standing in front of Sophie to give others a fair chance. Sophie was beautiful and immaculately groomed. Those hours I spent teaching eye shadow application hadn’t gone to waste on Sophie, but my artistic expression wasn’t directly understood. Not only did she request I show her but she required instructions and diagrams. Not a single moment of Spectrum time went to waste. We had so much fun.

  I remember New Year’s Day just before Sophie died. We had been out all night partying and got to bed rather late, or early. Sophie slept in the spare room and about 8am I woke and there she was, sitting cross-legged in hound’s-tooth pyjamas on the end of my bed just waiting for a chat. It was the last thing I wanted to do but Sophie was bright and bubbly as usual, even convincing me it would be a great idea to go to KFC in our pyjamas — the drive-through of course. She lured me into the car only to race back inside and change into a white blouse and denim skirt.

  There was a real sense of security and sincerity about our friendship. There were the silly moments, laughing at ourselves, dancing and singing — trying to keep up with Justin Timberlake in front of the telly. Or the moments where her ability to have a serious conversation, working out problems and easing stresses by talking honestly and debating maturely, came to the fore. Sophie would often ask me for help or advice and was mature enough to take what I said for exactly what it was — just my opinion.

  We often talked about relationships and in Weatherston’s case Sophie didn’t like to give in to him. There was a kind of mental power struggle going on and I didn’t think Sophie wanted to lose face to him; she had too much pride for that. Not to imply that she was playing a dangerous game, she just didn’t know how dangerous he could be. Sometimes we compared Weatherston to one of my former boyfriends and we often laughed about how pathetic we thought they were. I’d had a former boyfriend who was violent so I had something to compare. We discussed violent tendencies and attitudes and I think Sophie believed she could handle the situation. She knew Weatherston was unpredictable but thought she would cope if there were signs of aggression. The final assault two days before she died did shake her confidence. At that point I felt she became confused at how unpredictable he was becoming. I warned her about him but at that stage his behaviour hadn’t been so violent that she felt she couldn’t handle it. And anyway, she was due to leave for Wellington, never to see Clayton Weatherston again.

  I knew too she had concerns about going to Wellington, away from family and friends. She thought no one would visit and I had to reassure her that I for one was definitely going to. She had already measured up her room in Wellington. She knew what furniture would fit and where it would go. She was so organised. I was consulted on every part of the process: what duvet cover she would have, what kind of handbag was ‘corporate’ and what colour nail polish was appropriate for a new job. It was such a big move and we were both excited and nervous about it.

  Sophie was affectionate in an honest kind of way. You knew she was being genuine when she gave you a hug or a kiss on the cheek. She wasn’t awkward about such things, just letting you know she cared.

  All I have now are memories of Sophie. But they are memories I can cherish of a beautiful, intelligent, fun-loving young woman who was a true friend. My last communication came the morning of the day Sophie died. I thought we had said all our goodbyes but a text came through from her — ‘I’ll be around at 8pm for one last drink.’

  5

  the narcissist—

  When Judith Ablett-Kerr addressed the jury she pointed to Clayton Weatherston, saying ‘This man is not normal.’ She is not wrong. But being ‘not normal’ does not imply that he didn’t know what he was doing or that he hadn’t thought of the consequences. During the trial the defence had called psychiatrists who labelled Weatherston narcissistic. His attack on Sophie was not a spur-of-the-moment thing or in defence of his life as he later claimed. It was premeditated.

  So who is Clayton Weatherston? To me he is the most evil person imaginable and I find it difficult to say his name, let alone write about him. However, if we are to learn anything from tragic events, we need to understand why they happen and what we can do to prevent or minimise future such happenings. Despite the sense of revulsion I have for this man, I acknowledge that he is someone’s son and brother. He did have friends and acquaintances. Not only did his actions cause me and my family immense and profound hurt and loss, he has caused irreparable damage to many others. Curiously, for someone so driven to succeed, why would he jeopardise that in exchange for a life in prison? I can’t figure that out and don’t really want to, but I do believe that the University of Otago was negligent in its responsibility of care to Sophie. One cannot help but think that if the university had a more stringent ethics policy, we may not be in the position we are in now. I can’t help but lay some of the blame for Sophie’s death at the university’s door. Sophie was a student — Clayton Weatherston was her lecturer. Surely the boundaries should not have been so easily blurred. A university has a duty to protect students, particularly vulnerable young women, and sadly I believe they have failed to exercise that duty of care.

  Two people whom I never met until after Sophie died, Chris Haig and Robert Alexander, worked with Weatherston at the University of Otago. Both were subsequently drawn into the case as peripheral witnesses and were left bewildered and traumatised.

  Chris Haig is the departmental manager in the economics department. The head of the department is effectively the academic manager, but Chris has responsibility for things like finance and human resource issues. As such she interacts with staff and some students and her role at times brings her into direct conflict with members of the departm
ent. I will leave it to Chris to explain the saga: her take on Weatherston the colleague, his association with Sophie, and how this terrible tragedy has affected her.

  The first thing I need to acknowledge is the indescribable effect this tragedy has had on so many people. It was simply unthinkable that someone we knew so well could kill a student, especially in such horrific circumstances.

  When I took up my job at the end of 2003, Clayton Weatherston was already a PhD student with a part-time but short-term contract teaching students. Early on he seemed a normal, friendly, chatty sort of person. I never saw him moody. He was always of an even temperament. He was, however, what I would describe as a ‘prissy’ individual. He was certainly into fashion, preferring to wear tight-fitting T-shirts. He was just an okay guy — nothing more, nothing less. He was a year older than me but seemed quite immature in a way. Our birthdates are just five days apart. I often joked with him along the lines of ‘Clayton, it’s time for you to grow up.’ We were two of the youngest in the department but he was always sort of flitting about. Eventually he bought an apartment after taking out a mortgage and told me he was ‘growing up’.

  Even though he came across as quite a nice guy he definitely had an arrogance about him. He was convinced he was very intelligent but, not being an economist, I didn’t hold an opinion about that. In those early days while he was studying for his doctorate, he seemed to have a pretty bright future.

  The honours group is a small one of about seven and we get to know them through social events where we encourage them to feel part of the department — cricket and soccer matches, barbecues, that kind of thing. Sophie was great — a bright, bubbly wee person. She was lovely and came across as confident in her interactions with others, very mature. She was always running slightly late for everything and I would hear the swish, swish of her jeans when she was rushing down the corridor to a lecture. I’d always know it was Sophie — you could just tell from the movement. Apart from those social events, the student rep meetings and seeing Sophie at some conferences or passing her in the corridor and saying hello, that was pretty much my involvement with her. To hear she was going out with Weatherston took me by surprise.

  Their relationship was on and off and you could really tell which one it was. I remember one incident when it was all on. They were in the photocopy room near my office and the conversation was all very jovial — lots of giggling. I remember sitting there thinking, oh, pack it up you two. He was pouring on the charm, almost purring and she fell for it. She was a lot younger than him and was just exhibiting naïve behaviour. When it was all off it became tense. I remember seeing them pass each other in the corridor one day and it was just a flick of the head as they walked past each other. And the glaring. That concerned me because it began to affect the classroom. Other students were very aware when it was on or off because of the tension in the room. It wasn’t fair on the other students and certainly not healthy for Sophie.

  On the day Sophie died, Robert Alexander came in to my office and said that the previous day he had had Sophie in his room complaining about Weatherston. I said, ‘Yeah, whatever.’ I was just sick of it and thought, she’s leaving tomorrow, it’ll be all over. I thought it was all just little dramas. Nothing more than a lover’s tiff.

  Wednesday, 9 January was Weatherston’s birthday and I wrote happy birthday on the whiteboard on his door. I saw him as I walked past his office later that morning. He was on the phone so I mouthed ‘Happy birthday’ and he acknowledged me with a hand gesture. Around midday as I went to the lifts he was coming out of his office. I said, ‘See you later,’ and he replied, ‘See you.’ He was perfectly normal.

  About 2.30pm I had a phone call from the proctor. He asked if I had a Clayton Weatherston in the department. I said, ‘Yeah, what’s he done now?’ The proctor said he wanted to pop over for a chat and when he arrived he said he actually needed to talk to me. He was struggling and said, ‘You’ll not see Weatherston for a long time — he’s just been charged with murder.’ I immediately thought he’d killed Sophie. I pleaded with him to tell me who it was as I needed to know. He confirmed it was Sophie. I was thinking they must have had an argument, he’s pushed her and she’s fallen. He can’t have meant it. At that stage I knew nothing else. I was told I could tell the head of department and Weatherston’s mentor and my husband, no one else. Clayton’s office was taped up as a crime scene. Staff came in wanting to know why his office was taped up. Had I hidden a birthday cake in there? Then a friend of his came along with a birthday card asking me to sign it, which I declined to do, leaving him somewhat bewildered.

  The next day it was just a procession of people coming into my office and bursting into tears. It was unbelievable. When Robert Alexander came in later, he said Lesley Elliott had just rung to tell him what happened. At that stage I didn’t know it was premeditated or so violent. The rest of the day was taken up with statements. From day one the police were fantastic, so amazing. Even so it was all a complete nightmare and I didn’t think it could get worse, but of course it did. We learnt more and more about what Weatherston did to Sophie. That was the hardest thing — hearing from Lesley what he did and that she had been witness to it.

  I gave evidence at the depositions hearing, which I felt was a farce. Robert and I were told to turn up at 9am on day one and expected it to be all over by lunchtime. We spent all Monday and Tuesday in a little room. Robert gave his evidence late that afternoon. Wednesday it was back to court again to the same little room. Finally I was called to the stand on the Wednesday afternoon. Weatherston was sitting in court so it was really intimidating, actually frightening. The whole process was awful — not only giving evidence in an intimidating setting but having that monster sitting there glaring at me.

  I was asked the most nonsensical things by the defence like, so, you used to like him, didn’t you? You loaned him your guitar so you must have liked him? You went to his graduation drinks and he went to your party, so you must have liked him? I was thinking, what is it they’re asking? I think they wanted me to say he was a nice guy. All my evidence was to be that I saw him on the day he killed Sophie and he seemed fine.

  The trial was like depositions but magnified by a million. First, we all had to relocate to Christchurch, which was extremely stressful. We were flown up on a Sunday and accommodated in a hotel and then basically just had to wait and wait. I finally got on the stand on the Friday about 4.30 in the afternoon. I began giving evidence but halfway through the court was adjourned for the weekend. I was flown home to Dunedin to sort out things with the house as my husband was working out of town at the time, then flew back to Christchurch on the Sunday to resume giving evidence on the Monday.

  I didn’t have a pleasant weekend. My brother, sister-in-law and their two children were visiting from Australia. I hadn’t been able to see them during the week because I was stuck in Christchurch. I felt I couldn’t go and see them on the weekend as I wouldn’t be able to act normally in front of the kids and that wasn’t fair on them, so I missed seeing my family all because of the trial scheduling. It was nothing like what the Elliotts went through, but it was still hard.

  I was cross-examined by Judith Ablett-Kerr and to me it seemed all theatrics. Everyone had been called doctor or professor, like ‘Dr Weatherston’ as if it was important. Her first question to me, put in a very theatrical way, was ‘Dr Haig, isn’t it?’ I have a PhD in music. I just looked at her and said I’d prefer to be called Mrs Haig. She replied, ‘Well, Dr Alexander made quite a point of referring to you as Dr Haig.’ This was actually an exaggeration by Mrs Ablett-Kerr but I wasn’t prepared to play what I thought to be a pathetic game of ‘oh, we are all academics here’. All Robert had done was refer to me as Dr Haig.

  From there on it was her trying to establish that Weatherston was a nice guy and my trying to establish that what I thought of him was completely irrelevant. I wasn’t prepared to concede he was more than okay. He was merely a colleague in a very collegial department tha
t did a lot of social things together. I wouldn’t have socialised with Clayton Weatherston outside of work-related things. If we went for drinks it was as a group, not as mates.

  To watch him hold the stand over five days, seeing his attitude, smirks, jokes and smiles was galling. You could see glimpses of the old Clayton discussing something trivial, but to see him joking about what he had done was sickening. I can’t really feel the same about trusting people again after this. He seemed so perfectly normal as he left work that lunchtime, yet he was armed and on his way to kill Sophie. It’s scary. The thought that the person I saw leaving that day could stab another human 216 times is very disturbing.

  The whole judicial process was totally intimidating and I felt like I was being used. I felt the defence was trying to twist what I said and the prosecution was trying to gag me. Another thing that I have trouble coming to grips with is that during the defence part of the trial, they could raise issues about Sophie’s sexual past. Like the fact she met someone on holiday in Australia after her relationship with Weatherston was well over. So what?

  However, my experience was nothing compared to Robert Alexander’s. He is the most honourable person I’ve worked with and to have his name dragged through the mud made me furious. He did not deserve the treatment he received, that of being made Weatherston’s scapegoat.

  By the time the court case was over, Robert was quite traumatised. Sophie’s death had a profound effect on him and, because Sophie had confided in him the day before she died, Robert feels even more anguish; that perhaps he might have been able to do something to avert this terrible tragedy. Not only did Robert have to contend with matters surrounding Sophie’s death, he became the catalyst when the defence tried to deflect blame away from Weatherston. For Weatherston to do what he did to Sophie, there had to be a compelling reason. And Robert became the target for this blame deflection. It would be Robert who tipped their client over the edge. It was Robert’s intervention or influence that would cause their client to come up to our house, while I was at home, and kill my daughter. The defence of Clayton Weatherston was based on provocation. Who provoked him to do what he did — Robert Alexander.