I’d been worried about my daughter Jessie pretty much since the day she was born.
She was slow to hit baby milestones and her little sister Codie, who I had a year later, steamed ahead her. Codie even walked before Jessie did.
Jessie was also sneaky.
Don’t get me wrong. I know every mum has got home and found a toy hidden in a bag or pushchair that her toddler has swiped from a shop, but Jessie stole constantly. And not just toys – anything she could get her hands on.
Then she’d lie about it. The first time she did it, she was only three.
Just a few months later, her bad behaviour grew sinister. She had been playing in the garden with Codie when she picked up a rock and hit her over the head with it.
As Codie screamed, Jessie just laughed. Then she wiped her hands in her sister’s blood and licked it.
I was shaking as I told my aunt Karen, who was like a second mum to me, what had happened.
From the age of three, Jessie was stealing regularly. One day in the garden, she hit her two-year-old sister Codie over the head with a rock. She then laughed and licked the blood
Jessie’s behaviour went way beyond typical teen angst. She ran away to be with a boyfriend when she was 15, and called the police when Karen and I tried to get her to come home
‘Try not to worry about it,’ she said. But I could tell she was just as concerned as I was.
When Jessie started school, she struggled to make friends because of her behaviour.
Eventually, I had her assessed and learned that educationally she was a little behind.
But deep down, I knew it was far worse than that.
As Jessie reached her teens, her behaviour became unmanageable.
At 15, she ran away to be with her boyfriend. When Karen and I went round there, trying to talk some sense into her, she swore at us, then called the police.
I felt like I’d completely lost my daughter.
When Jessie was 20, she had a little girl of her own, Madilyn.
I hoped motherhood would change her, but it didn’t. Karen and I spent more time looking after Madilyn than Jessie did.
When Jessie fell pregnant for a second time, she and Madilyn moved in full-time with Karen, who was already exhausted by the amount of support she was giving.
Karen was in her late sixties, and was a respected greyhound trainer who everyone loved. She deserved peace and quiet in her old age – not Jessie and her brood muscling in on her home.
Not to mention Jessie was rude, ungrateful and sometimes threatening.
When Karen’s mum – my nan – died, I offered to help her organise the funeral. I asked Jessie if she could please take care of Madilyn by herself for one afternoon so we could go and pick out a coffin.
‘I’m not staying. Take Madilyn with you,’ she said.
Then she sneered: ‘While you’re there, pick a coffin for yourselves.’
At times like that, my daughter seemed like pure evil.
We begged social services for help, but they were no use. Eventually, as tensions grew between them, Karen rented a house for Jessie and helped her move out.
I was so worried about the situation I asked my son James, 20, to go stay with Karen for a couple of days, but he was too busy with work.
A week later, my daughter Codie arrived at my house with devastating news.
My aunt Karen – who was like a second mother to me – tried so hard to help Jessie. Karen was a respected greyhound trainer and everyone loved her
‘Mum, Karen’s dead,’ she sobbed.
When I arrived at the house, detectives said Jessie had found Karen dead and called police. She had told officers she believed it was a robbery gone wrong.
But as the policeman walked me around the house to see if I could identify what was missing, I saw there was blood splattered all over the walls.
In that moment, a chilling realisation hit me: Jessie had done this. I was sure of it.
Just over a week later Jessie’s boyfriend came forward with a blood-stained hammer he’d found at their home. Shortly afterwards, Jessie was arrested and charged with Karen’s murder.
Even though I’d suspected this, I was still in shock. Karen and I had done everything to try to make things easier for Jessie, and this was how she had repaid us.
While Jessie was awaiting trial, I struggled to cope. So did my son, James, who’d just turned 21.
‘Mum, I blame myself,’ he wept. ‘If I’d stayed at Karen’s, it wouldn’t have happened.’
I tried comforting him, but he couldn’t shake the guilt.
I don’t know if my daughter is a psychopath, sociopath or just plain evil, but I know she’s beyond rehabilitation. (Pictured: author Amanda Leek, the mother of Jessie Moore)
One night, on the way to his new girlfriend’s house, he drove too fast, went off the road, hit a tree and was killed.
The police said it was driver fatigue. But in my mind, Jessie killed her brother, sure as she killed Karen.
Exhausted, grieving and stressed, James took a bend too fast. It was all Jessie’s fault.
In 2021, Jessie pleaded guilty to Karen’s murder.
At the sentencing, which took place via Zoom because of Covid, I learned Jessie had argued with Karen about childcare.
Then, as Karen had sat down to watch her favourite show, Home and Away, Jessie had snuck up behind her with a hammer.
She’d struck Karen at least 12 times before finally tying a plastic bag over her head.
The she’d left the house with her daughter who had been in the next room. On her way home, Jessie stopped for cigarettes and KFC. Then she threw the bloody hammer in a bag and hid it inside a cupboard in her daughter’s room.
Jessie’s defence said, in mitigation, she’d had a terrible childhood.
If so, it was her own making. Her whole life, Karen and I had bent over backwards to help her.
Jessie was found guilty of murder and was sentenced to 18 years behind bars, with a non-parole period of 13 years.
I don’t know if my daughter is a psychopath, sociopath or just plain evil, but I know she’s beyond rehabilitation.
She’s the same girl today she was when she smashed her little sister in the head with a rock.
When James died, I lost the wrong child. It should have been Jessie.
- As told to John Parrish
