Stalked

by Chris Smith

  However, at this point in her life, not surprisingly, Libby was a troubled soul and she had some important decisions to make. She knew she couldn’t hide indefinitely, that she needed to take affirmative action. Her week interstate was a wonderful tonic, but it would soon be time to return home. She wasn’t sure whether she’d see Anthony again. He’d clearly moved on with his life. Perhaps she was on the brink of doing the same. In an emotional farewell, they agreed to keep in contact and Anthony told her that he hoped her troubles would soon be over.

  Back home, having found solace in the company of a male friend, Libby wanted to protect herself in a similar way. Her psyche craved a bodyguard. She recruited Shane, who had always been there for her when she needed advice from a man. Theirs had been a relationship at arm’s length—strictly platonic, on her part at least—but he was up to speed on Libby’s troubles and he only had to peer into those once soft and beautiful eyes to see the terror and despair that had engulfed her life. He’d given his two cents’ worth on several occasions already, even encouraging her to take the trip to Melbourne. He was happy to assist in any way possible and readily agreed when she suggest they go out to dinner together.

  Libby dropped into Mosman on her way to the Manly café where she’d planned to meet Shane for an early Saturday night meal. Her home seemed so creepy and daunting now; pangs of fear crept back into her stomach as she walked shakily up the hallway and into her bedroom. Her neck was stiff with tension as she swapped her soiled casuals for her favourite blouse and jeans. Her movements couldn’t have been any faster. Her stop off lasted only a few minutes, but it was a cold return to the home she’d once loved. As she left she opened the letterbox to find yet another of Phillip Hopkins’ apologies, another plea for them to be together again. This time the package had a cassette enclosed:

  Libby,

  I’ve enclosed a cassette of songs as a gift to you with a couple of songs that describe how much you mean to me … if you listen to the lyrics, they describe my feelings—which I have so much needed to communicate to you over the past couple of weeks. I’ve included ‘our’ song, Roachford’s ‘Only to Be With You’ and another song of theirs, ‘Emergency’, which explains why I have behaved the way I have over the past couple of weeks.

  The songs are:

  Joshua Kadison—‘Beautiful in my Eyes’. Every word in this song describes my love for you.

  ABC—‘All of my Heart’, which describes my hope for a future with you … one more chance?

  Bryan Adams—‘Not Guilty’, which kind of sums up the legal hassles we’ve had and my frustration at the law interfering with our problem, and my punishment not fitting the crime etc.

  And our Roachford songs.

  Libby, I want so much for you to call me—to see me—to love me again. If I make the mistake of ‘hassling’ you unintentionally, please forgive me.

  Libby, I love you. I know that things can and will be different if you give me that one chance.

  Phillip

  xxxx

  These were words she’d heard in part before and had braced herself against. But when he wrote like this, her heart and mind played tricks on her. She read the letter again and felt she could detect a man apologising for crimes yet committed. Somehow, she couldn’t destroy the letters.

  Libby arrived a little late for her dinner appointment. Shane had already arrived and was sitting in the Brazil Café, at a table facing North Steyne beach. The café owners had fastened back the concertina doors a cool sea breeze wafted in through the Norfolk pines across the road.

  ‘Libby!’ Shane greeted her warmly.

  ‘Ah, Shane,’ Libby replied softly.

  The pair embraced. Libby gratefully accepted his welcome and as soon as they sat down, poured her heart out. She needed someone who she felt safe with, who would listen without judging. Her mind was wracked with fear, her confidence dissolved. She wanted complete closure, some sense of protection from the coming avalanche. As she told Shane all that had happened, she gazed across the road toward the beach. Then her eyes fixed upon an eerie vision. Her pulse quickened. Her breaths shortened. Directly across from the cafe, she noticed someone standing behind one of the tall pine trees lining the beach. It seemed that the person was using the trunk of the tree as a hiding post from which to spy on her. She knew: it was Hopkins. She stopped her story mid-sentence.

  ‘He’s found me again,’ she said quietly.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Shane asked, trying to see what Libby had spotted.

  ‘Shane, it’s him. He’s just there.’

  ‘Who, Hopkins?’

  ‘He’s done it again,’ Libby said, cradling her forehead in her hands. Her shock had turned to emptiness. It was as if she’d lost another round in a fight she was never meant to win.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Shane asked, energised by Hopkins’ presence.

  Libby felt stronger by Shane’s side and decided that she must seize this opportunity to ignore him. She had to get on with her life. The message was best delivered now. She would show him that he was no longer welcome in her life; there would be friendship with him, no contact of any kind. He had broken all the rules—he had to understand his obsession must end. She was in another man’s presence, not so vulnerable in public.

  They carried on with their dinner as if he wasn’t there. From ordering entrée through to finishing dessert an hour passed and Hopkins had not budged from his spot behind the pine tree. His patience astounded Shane. The man just glared from across the road, without flinching. He made an awkward table guest, contaminating their every bite.

  ‘Shane, what I wanted to ask you,’ Libby explained, ‘was to be with me when I told this creep again that it was all over. His games have to stop. I can’t do it on my own; I don’t stand a chance without you here. The court case doesn’t stop the way he feels. I know that.’

  ‘I understand. I thought that was the case. He’s clever too. He’s about 90 metres away, far enough to argue his compliance with the AVO,’ Shane said, now leaning over to hold the wrist of her right hand. ‘You can’t go through any more of this. I mean that. I’ll do whatever it takes to help. Let him take on someone his own size for a change and stop lurking in the dark.’ Libby was so relieved by Shane’s words, she leaned over to hold his hand. It was a spontaneous reaction—and probably the worst thing she could have done in view of an unpredictable Phillip Hopkins.

  In a millisecond, Hopkins was standing a metre away from their table, arms folded, face red with rage, veins swelling at his temple. ‘What do you think you’re bloody well doing?’ Phillip bellowed. ‘Who’s it going to be, Libby, me or him?’

  ‘Why don’t you shut your mouth and leave her alone?’ Shane said.

  ‘This has nothing to do with you, buddy. Butt out.

  ‘Stop it,’ Libby said. ‘It’s all over between us, totally, forever and if I have to have Shane here to make sure you don’t hurt me, well, there you have it. You can’t hurt me now, so please leave and never contact me again.’

  Libby knew it was the soft option, rejecting him in another man’s presence. But it was also the safer option.

  Hopkins remained still for two seconds, before turning towards the beach, contemplating his next move. He was nothing he could do—outnumbered and outsmarted in unfamiliar circumstances, before an audience of the other cafe patrons, who had stopped eating to take in the confrontation.

  Shane and Libby watched Hopkins until he was out of sight, some 200 metres down the road. They leaned back in their chairs, unnerved. ‘Forget him, it’s over,’ Shane whispered.

  Libby smiled and thanked him for his strength. She agreed that Hopkins was gone, but inside she knew he’d be back. She knew he wouldn’t accept such an ignominious defeat. His challenge had just grown larger.

  After coffee Shane paid the bill and they left, Shane walking Libby to her car. She thanked him again with a peck on the cheek and he offered to put her up at his place until the dust had settled. She assured him
that she’d organised her own hiding place for the short term and, after all, she couldn’t stay away from work and her own home for much longer.

  Life had to resume eventually. She was now determined to begin the next phase.

  ‘He can’t change my life any longer, Shane. He can’t do that, I won’t let him.’

  ‘You’re right but you’ve got my numbe. Talk to the police about today and I’ll make a statement about his breach of the AVO. Don’t hesitate to call when you need to! I’m happy to testify.’

  New Year was not a joyous time for Libby, but she was determined to start this year with some degree of vigour. She awoke at her sister’s house in Manly. Her brother-in-law Mark suggested she come with him and his daughter to the Manly Swim Centre. She began the short walk up the hill to her parents’ house at Balgowlah to grab her swimmers. As she passed the pool beyond her sister’s house, she spotted Hopkins’ red Laser in the car park. He was in the driver’s seat. She was determined to continue with the day she had planned. As she quickened her pace, passing the car park, he manoeuvred the Laser in front of her, blocking her path. He jumped out of the car and approached her swiftly.

  ‘Now that I’ve got you alone, I want you to tell me why you don’t love me anymore.’

  ‘I don’t love you, stop hassling me,’ she said calmly.

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. At first she couldn’t move, but eventually she managed to break from his grasp, dashing across four lanes of traffic, back the way she had come towards her sister’s house. She stayed close to a young couple walking down the hill. Hopkins returned to his vehicle and Libby ran now to her sister’s house and borrowed Mark’s car to make the journey to her parents’ house. As she pulled up outside, he was right behind, driving down the street only seconds after she’d opened the gate. He was like a blowfly drawn to sweat.

  An hour later she walked into the swim centre with her brother-in-law and niece. For a while she thought she’d given him the slip, but he was there again to greet her. Mark spotted him too, but urged Libby to ignore him. Hopkins wasn’t so patient with his surveillance this time round. Ten minutes later, he walked up to their spot on the grass.

  ‘Go away, Phillip,’ Mark said, as Hopkins stood over them, glaring at Libby.

  ‘This is none of your business,’ he replied.

  ‘It is my business because I’m here with Libby and my daughter.’

  ‘What are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Would you like to see what I’m going to do about it?’ Mark said standing up.

  ‘Go ahead mate, I’ll charge you with assault.’

  Mark wasn’t buying the bluff and promptly shoved Hopkins in the chest. Oddly, it was enough to force Hopkins to walk away. But he didn’t go far and badgered the pair from several metres away. As Mark approached a lifeguard, Hopkins called, ‘Come on mate, hit me right in the face.’

  The lifeguard grabbed Hopkins and had staff call police immediately. Minutes later they arrived at the centre where a small crowd had gathered to watch the disturbance. As the officers approached the now corralled Hopkins, he jumped out of his chair.

  ‘That’s him,’ he shouted, pointing to Mark. ‘He’s the one who assaulted me.’

  Libby intervened. ‘There is a court order, Constable, that says he can’t come near me and he keeps following me. He should be locked up.’

  ‘Is there an AVO on you mate?’ One of the officers asked him.

  ‘No,’ he replied.

  Before long Hopkins was being questioned in an interview room at Manly Police Station. ‘There’s an AVO out on you Phillip,’ explained the officer who had been advised about the charges relating to Hopkins’ assault on Libby when he dragged her along the footpath. He wanted Hopkins to confess to breaching his AVO.

  ‘Did you assault Miss Masters?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘But we’ve since reconciled, we made up on Boxing Day. Ask her. We met and spent a few days together.’

  In another interview room, Libby confirmed their meeting: ‘I did meet with him,’ Libby admitted. ‘Not at his place, not at mine.’ ‘He said over and over again that he wouldn’t leave me alone unless I saw him face to face. AVOs weren’t keeping him away, the threat of court, police, none of that scares him. I had to try what I had left. We met, I asked him to leave me alone and he said what he had to say. That’s it. I will do anything to stop this. You don’t understand.’

  Hopkins argued in the next room that this was clearly a breach engineered and agreed to by Libby. The police were stumped.

  They could hardly charge Hopkins if Libby had somehow agreed to a meeting. There was a suggestion at the station that Libby would need to be charged as well, so neither process was an option.

  Hopkins was released and warned to keep clear … or else.

  The confrontation at the pool and the subsequent interviews at the police station deflated Libby immensely—it was an exhausting end to an incredible year. All her attempts to eradicate him from her life had failed and she now faced the fact that his obsession was nowhere near at an end. Each day throughout 1996 would be a separate, draining battle.

  PART THREE:

  RELENTLESS

  8

  IN HER FACE

  ‘Get up! Wake up! Wake up, you!’

  Libby was startled awake. There was a hand rubbing her exposed shoulder. Her eyes shot open.

  ‘What?’ she screamed, jumping out of her bed. It was only her mother, standing over her bed. She was simply trying to get her daughter up and off to work. The room was drenched in sunlight. This was not another terrifying episode in the middle of the night. It was a bright morning in early February 1996. Her mother had spent the night with her in her old bed. There was no way she would have been able to get to sleep otherwise.

  ‘Thank God’, Libby sighed. ‘Oh Mum, it’s so good to see you, you don’t know. I’m shaking.’

  ‘It’s almost 9 o’clock, Libby, you are so late,’ warned her mother.

  It didn’t matter. Nights without sleep, without threat, were a rarity. She’d cherish this beautiful sunny morning, as if it was her last. Hopkins had obviously been busy elsewhere. He hadn’t left his calling card the previous night and Libby was greatly relieved, but not stupid enough to think he’d left her alone for good.

  A month had passed and Libby hadn’t heard a word from police officer Rowan Haddock. Either Simone Crowe couldn’t be found, or she wasn’t keen on confronting the past. She didn’t press Rowan for the information. There was so much going on and her few attempts to speak to him were met with grumpy replies from desk sergeants promising reluctantly to pass on messages. Rowan had been rostered on mid-dawn shifts in the patrol car and was hard to pin down.

  Hopkins’ midnight visits to her parents home at Balgowlah continued. Libby’s mother empathised with what was happening to her daughter and even her father began to fathom what was going on late at night, even if he remained unconvinced of the regular harassment pattern. Hopkins continued throwing plastic balls on the roof and tapping at the window at all hours. And the assault case was set down for hearing. It was expedited because of Libby’s reports of him breaching his AVO.

  So Libby spent an afternoon in the witness box. Hopkins’ solicitor questioned her aggressively, painting her as a psychopath who’d incited Hopkins into a tormented state of mind. The magistrate seemed compelled by what he’d heard from neighbours about Hopkins’ nighttime visits. Despite pleading otherwise, Hopkins was found guilty. His lawyers asked for sentencing immediately; Libby knew that his family was nervous about the possibility of media coverage of the case, which would be damaging to his father’s corporate reputation and would embarrass the family. Today there were no reporters present and the magistrate agreed to return after lunch with a decision.

  Libby didn’t stay for the sentencing, hearing the news by phone later. He’d been given a good behaviour bond, a lettuce leaf slap on the cheek. No conviction would be recorded if Hopkins stayed out of trouble for
twelve months.

  The prosecutor sighed, but he hadn’t expected much more. Libby couldn’t figure it out. He had brutally assaulted her. Without assistance from the neighbours, she might have been permanently injured. The superficial nature of her injuries had been highlighted again and again by Hopkins’ side. Perhaps that swayed the outcome in his favour. She knew that no matter what, the assault charge wouldn’t diminish his attitude and resolve. He would be enraged at being outed; at being embarrassed before his parents and family. Their knowledge of what had been going on might temporarily curtail his behaviour, but not for long. As she had discovered, Hopkins was a violent, obsessed stalker.

  Libby never heard back from Haddock, but Libby discovered later that, like most of the officers who’d been called out to rescue Libby late at night, he followed her case closely.

  Simone Crowe was a traumatised young woman, who had no desire to contact another victim, even a victim of a man she’d tried so hard to blank from her mind. Libby had done all she could to coax Simone out of her self-imposed anonymity—to no avail.

  Meanwhile, Libby sank into depression and began to see a local psychiatrist. These were extremely emotional meetings, as she struggled with the reality of daily life and the fading hope of intervention from outside. On the nights he turned up, the local police night car would arrive and the familiar eye-rolling would ensue. They never found him, but as they left, officers could often hear her quiet sniffling at the door.

  She would never return to Mosman. She moved in with her parents at Balgowlah full time and tried hard to resume a near-normal life, but she couldn’t sleep. Every so often, just when she’d almost forgotten the name Phillip Hopkins, she’d sight him briefly, across the road from the cafe or restaurant she was visiting, late into the night. This she knew would have involved an all-night operation to tail her from work or home, monitoring her movements from bar to taxi to restaurant. Then he’d pause at the front window, or appear like a cat on the roof of the premises across the road from where she was dining. Libby fantasised about ways of catching him once and for all. She’d lie awake at night, deprived of sleep, imagining using steel traps to break his legs as he stalked the property. She took great pleasure in thinking of ways to torture him after he became trapped. Or perhaps she could recruit one of her male friends and together they could shoot him dead. That was the point she’d reached.