Sophie’s Legacy

by Lesley Elliot

  Occasionally something totally unexpected occurs and you just have to deal with it. I had been invited to Wellington in late November 2010 to talk to a couple of professional women’s groups and officials at the Ministry of Health regarding aspects of the Foundation. Wanting to avoid the infamous ‘red eye’ Boeing flight that departs Dunedin before 7am, I opted for a later departure. The only suitable direct flight to Wellington was aboard the much smaller and more compact ATR. I was allocated an aisle seat three rows from the back of the plane, which was filled to capacity. I hadn’t fastened my seatbelt as the passenger in the window seat hadn’t yet boarded. I had my head down, browsing through some papers I needed to read before my meetings, when I sensed someone standing beside me. I stood up to let them into their seat and came face to face with none other than Judith Ablett-Kerr. For a split second we looked at each other in what was for me, and I’m sure for her too, a most uncomfortable moment. She had the good grace to ask me if I’d like her to be shifted to another seat or swap places with another passenger. I said no, we should keep things as they were allocated.

  Where the near two-hour journey could have been hugely uncomfortable, it wasn’t. When we spoke it was amicable and polite. I told Judith that while I respected her, I hadn’t liked being on the receiving end of her questioning and she told me something of the emotional stress she found in representing Weatherston. The fallout from what was at times a vicious reaction to her tactics, especially from the media, left Judith rather disillusioned. When I left her in Wellington, I thought about some of the observations she made about Weatherston. I couldn’t help but ponder over their lawyer/client relationship and would have loved to have been a fly on the wall during some of their meetings. Judith Ablett-Kerr is a formidable defence counsel. There is no doubt about that. There were a few other trial-related things we discussed on the plane, but those are best left on the plane.

  One cannot hope to survive the sort of trauma I witnessed without help from a variety of people or organisations. Acknowledging the help from family and friends is always fraught with the danger of mentioning some and not others. So it is probably safer to say a huge thank you to everyone who showed kindness, support and sympathy through some deeply disturbing times. I wouldn’t be where I am today without that help and I will be eternally grateful.

  Victim Support was so valuable. I was assigned a wonderful lady who did so much for me. Gill was there when it came to practical things like notifying people on that first day, getting me to appointments, or seemingly inconsequential things like retrieving my glasses from where I had left them. Later, when reality began to dawn on me, it was Gill who provided a shoulder to cry on. She was available 24/7 and what I didn’t appreciate then but do now is Gill, like her counterparts, does this work voluntarily. I don’t know if you realise it, Gill, but you were amazing, a godsend and a lifesaver. Hats off to Victim Support. You do a great job.

  Not only did Victim Support help with the costs of getting the boys home from Australia, Gill also approached a Lions Club who helped with some of the expenses when we had to relocate to Christchurch for five weeks. I will be eternally grateful to these kind people but I have to pose the question: ‘Why?’ Why do we have to rely on charity when things like murder affect too many New Zealand families? Some states in Australia have a compensation fund specifically to help in cases of murder. The only reservation I have is how compensation might be handed out, because money needed further down the line could easily be frittered away.

  There were months of flashbacks, nightmares and, worse still, the times when I could hear Sophie’s screams. These did my mind no good. Prescription drugs helped but professional intervention was required. Over a couple of years I was referred to a number of competent and caring psychologists. In such circumstances the client/professional relationship has to be comfortable. Eventually I was teamed up with Nigel Latta. On one hand he wears a serious face when he fronts the television programme Beyond the Darklands, and on the other, he is the humorous presenter of his politically incorrect programme on bringing up kids. But he’s also a very competent clinical psychologist who speaks good sense and helped me immeasurably. Thank you, Nigel, for freely giving us your time. My message to people suffering trauma (and I refer particularly to reluctant males) is seek help. It might just save your life.

  Life in a practical sense is not the same any more. Sometimes I find shopping difficult. During the writing of this book, I went into the Dunedin branch of Farmers to do some Christmas shopping. I had to steel myself to do it because this time of the year was always special to Sophie and looking for gifts brought back too many memories. I just couldn’t do it so went home. Being in a better frame of mind a few days later, I tried again. I was browsing when a woman came up to me in tears, telling me she had daughters and had been greatly affected by Sophie’s death. She hugged me, told me how sorry she was, and walked away — another shopping expedition shattered. On the way out I saw the woman, thanked her for her kind gesture, and went home empty-handed. This sort of occurrence isn’t unusual. The first time it happened was in a supermarket when an elderly lady came up to me with tears pouring down her face. She said she had cried buckets for me and the best I could do was comfort her. In December 2010 I went shopping in town, bearing in mind this was nearly three years since Sophie had died, and was approached by five different people, all strangers. People were affected by Sophie’s murder and people don’t forget.

  There are some things I physically couldn’t do as a consequence of Sophie’s murder. Two years after her death I was called up for jury service. This was a task I couldn’t face even though I support the civic duty ethos. I was excused.

  This book is my story about Sophie. It is because of Clayton Weatherson, not about him. He not only hurt us, he hurt his own family, and it would be uncharitable of me not to acknowledge the pain and suffering he has put them through. I have always felt sorry for the Weatherston family. It is not their fault and I bear no animosity towards them. On the last day of the depositions hearing I met them in the District Court foyer. They came up to me to apologise and Clayton’s sister gave me a very tight hug and said she was so sorry for what had happened and that I was so brave for giving such gruelling evidence. I appreciated that gesture. What Clayton did to my family was horrific but he also cast his own family into an enduring nightmare.

  The day after my Close Up appearance, I was filling my car with petrol when the news came over the forecourt sound system. All I could hear above the noise were the names Clayton Weatherston and Sophie Elliott. I finished filling the car and lined up to pay for the transaction as if nothing was untoward. There was no one I could talk to, just a feeling of emptiness as I drove home. I was churned up just by hearing his name. As it turned out it was about the University of Otago’s release of their ethical behaviour policy on staff/student relationships. This was something I felt passionate about and we had been invited to make submissions, which we duly did. But when I learned of the changes to the ethical behaviour policy, I was livid. Some words had changed but the substance had not. I wrote to the vice chancellor on 26 October 2010 and I have had no reply — not even an acknowledgement of my letter. I don’t believe I am being unreasonable in expecting the university to develop a strong policy on staff/student boundaries. I appreciate the need for freedom of association, but the university also has a duty of care.

  When the head of economics at the university, Professor David Fielding, was giving evidence at Weatherston’s trial, he said he ‘was not too pleased’ when he learned of the relationship between Weatherston and Sophie. He didn’t think it was appropriate given that Weatherston was tutoring subjects Sophie was studying. However, Weatherston had not broken any rules. Professor Fielding’s task under the policy was to protect the academic integrity of the student. There was nothing within the policy providing guidance or intervention to protect Sophie in a physical sense. I think he and others should be required to. Young students are vulnerable and I bel
ieve that Weatherston was predatory, despite any protestations he might make.

  In the original ethical behaviour policy, where it talks about staff/student relationships, there is a section on intimate personal relationships that says:

  The university strongly discourages, [my emphasis] and staff should avoid entering into an intimate personal relationship with a student at the university, particularly a student for whom they have responsibility. Such a relationship risks taking advantage of the intrinsic trust, power and status differential implicit in the staff-to-student relationship. Should such a relationship arise the staff member must follow the procedures …

  All the staff member has to do is inform the person they report to, who then puts processes into place to manage or remove the conflict. In the revised policy the university still strongly discourages staff/student relationships and supervisors still have to manage or remove the conflict of interest. Nothing has changed. To my mind Sophie’s death at the hands of a university staff member hasn’t made a scrap of difference to the policy. Obviously the management of the process is seriously flawed. In Sophie’s case they had someone else mark her papers but was it good management for her to be sitting in a classroom clearly distressed while Weatherston was up the front giving a lecture? If this is managing a situation then it’s astounding.

  There is nothing in the policy to define management of the process. Imagine a doctor having an intimate relationship with a patient. They would find themselves before a disciplinary hearing. Is a university staff/student relationship different to many other professions? I can’t help feeling that had the university developed a policy with some teeth to manage the situation better, Sophie might be alive today. As far as I’m concerned any changes the university has made to the policy are merely tinkering around the edges. I’m not finished with them yet. Perhaps I’m being too gentle in my opposition to their ethical behaviour policy and perhaps I should become more aggressive and get them to do something constructive. If I look at the situation hypothetically and assume Sophie hadn’t got in Weatherston’s way but had made it safely to Wellington, what then? In all likelihood he would still be employed in the economics department (despite the numerous problems he had caused) and still be able to form another relationship with a young, vulnerable student. Of course the university would ‘strongly discourage’ it, but allow it. They would ‘manage’ the situation, but how? If the student became the target of Weatherston’s narcissistic rage, I suppose the head of department would still be ‘not too pleased’. If the university’s ethical behaviour policy remains as it is then they deserve to reap the consequences that will surely follow. However, I don’t want another incident to occur before a policy is developed that is strong and meaningful, not wishy-washy and gutless.

  This next part of my story is about the spiritual dimension. I can hear the sceptics sighing now; I should know because I used to be one. After Sophie died I began constantly questioning some beliefs I had implicitly held all my life. One was ‘Is there an afterlife?’ I wanted to know where Sophie was, if she was OK and to be able to tell her how much I loved and missed her. In March of 2008 while we were visiting our sons in Australia, Nick convinced me to talk to a medium called Adele News. He had visited her himself after Sophie died and felt it might help me and give me some peace. Through a mutual friend, Adele agreed she would see us and she would do so out of the kindness of her heart. No fee was charged. Somewhat reluctantly but also eager to meet her, I agreed. I suppose this was because I was unsure of what I believed myself. We drove some distance to her home north of Sydney. Adele lived in a perfectly normal house and she seemed a perfectly normal elderly woman. She explained how she has a gift of communicating with the spirits of the deceased. I still remained sceptical. She reassured us that she wouldn’t make it up and if she didn’t reach Sophie she would say so. Adele sat with a pad and pen in hand. The lights were dimmed and an eerie hush descended. All of a sudden Adele began scribbling — very fast. After a while the writing stopped and eventually she told us she had gone. Adele read what she had written and I have to say my scepticism flew out the window. She apologised for the scrawl but said, ‘Gosh, she talks fast, it was hard keeping up with her.’ How true. Sophie did talk fast, even being known at home as a hypervocaliser.

  This is what Adele had written verbatim:

  He stole my life — you’re angry so am I, even here.

  I am mad, how dare he. Hi guys, mum and dad.

  I really am okay, no pain in any way, the flashes of light were me, ask her too. She sees them as well.

  I’m mad that he did this to us, to everyone but I know he will get what’s coming.

  Dad you couldn’t have done anything, no one could have. I know that, please accept that.

  Mum I am so sorry you had to see what you saw. Remember me as I really was, please all of you.

  Nick I am glad that I spent a great week of time with you, with you both thanks.

  Chris you will make it, Mr Muso you’ll make it. Love ya both heaps.

  Dad I asked mum not to tell you about first assault because I didn’t want you to be worried or do anything — it wasn’t that bad. Don’t blame mum. Sorry I didn’t get to say goodbye. You don’t have to do anything to Clayton dad, he will do it to himself, what goes around comes around, I am with you always. Mum I will tell you when you choose fuddy duddy gear, promise.

  Dad, I will always be your little girl, nothing will take away the memories or love or shut me up.

  Love you all Soph.

  Don’t read the autopsy report, enough already enough.

  I know what many people will think. Adele could have talked to Nick or others and put together a plausible act, even Sophie’s reference to my fuddy-duddy clothes, although only Sophie and I shared that phrase. But what has made me question spiritualism is the very last thing Sophie said. Gil and I had agonised over the need to look at the autopsy report carried out on Sophie. We had discussed this together but not with anyone else. That final sentence from Adele has caused me to at least approach the spiritual dimension with a more open mind. There have been enough signs over the past three years to convince me Sophie is somehow guiding us and watching over us.

  I’m nearing the end of my story about Sophie. This has been a difficult journey and many times I asked myself, ‘Am I doing the right thing?’ Each time I come back to the way Sophie in particular came into the spotlight, not through anything she did wrong, but through the actions of another. This has been a roller-coaster ride for me. Going uphill was easy as I recalled with pride and affection the splendid memories of a truly wonderful daughter and friend, only to hurtle down as the realisation of her loss hit home yet again. The horror of what happened and what I witnessed are still so very real, as are my memories of having to negotiate the criminal justice system.

  I am so grateful to all those people who contributed the thoughts and opinions that allowed me to write Sophie’s Legacy. I do need to acknowledge some for particular praise. My very sincere and special thanks go to William J for being so sensitive to my emotional turmoil. At times it seemed too hard as the story unfolded. Many tears have been shed over photographs and memories of Sophie. You have given me time and space to do this and it is much appreciated. I know Sophie would say you were awesome. Olwyn, thank you for all the work you have put in behind the scenes, transcribing, typing and editing. I’m sure it hasn’t been easy detaching yourself from the emotions.

  I’ve also had support from many of our family and friends and this has helped keep me going. There will never be a satisfactory rationale for what happened and there will always be the question ‘Why?’ I hope Sophie’s Legacy will tie up some of the loose ends and answer some of the questions.

  I do have to make special mention of our sons Nick and Chris. The loss of their dear sister in such a traumatic way impacted on them terribly. The past three years have been a difficult journey for them, a journey no one imagined they would have to take. How can they continue
with a ‘normal’ life when the experiences they have been through were so abnormal? Life can never be the same for us as Sophie’s parents, just as it can’t be for her brothers, who shared only 22 years of her life. Siblings have a right to expect many decades of life together. The boys came home to a nightmare and walked alongside us through the grief and the long wait for justice until now, when they have reached some sort of reluctant acceptance. Their contribution to this book is from their hearts and I know Sophie would have been deeply moved by them sharing their innermost feelings.

  There is no doubt that this book is emotionally charged. I realised that when our publisher, Barbara Larson, visited me after having read the first chapter. I’m sure Barbara has read many stories during her long and successful publishing career yet she was clearly affected by what she had read. I was deeply touched, Barbara.