SUPPLIED Lee Hart and her daughter Amber Roper.

The last hours of 53-year-old Lee Hart's life were spent unconscious at Auckland City Hospital, surrounded by machines, doctors, and daughter Amber Roper.

It was February 2017, and Roper recalls policemen showing up to her front door, saying little but requesting she accompany them to the hospital to say goodbye to her mum.

For years Hart had been severely ill with alcoholism while also in an abusive relationship. Initially, Roper could only guess what happened.

Roper was nine months pregnant and as she maintained a vigil by her mother's bed in the back of her mind she wondered if she would end up going into labour then and there.

The paradox of giving birth to new life while her mother lay dying floors away fortunately never transpired, and Roper gave birth to a son weeks later.

READ MORE:

*Kevin Everett pleads not guilty

*One woman's story of domestic hell

*A look into NZ's family violence epidemic

By this time, Hart had died.

Remembering her mother more than a year on, Roper says Hart's life always seemed to be conducted in secret, such was her shame about alcoholism and her relationship.

But nothing good comes from secrets and Roper says shining a light on her mother's experience might help others.

"The one thing that was really missing from her life was truth. Everything was hidden. Everything was secretive. Everything was behind closed doors, and by doing something like (speaking publicly) - it's the opposite to that."

This year Hart's partner, Kevin Everett, was jailed for seven years and six months for her manslaughter. His sentence has been appealed.

The police case file reveals police were called to the couple's North Shore home eight times before Hart was fatally assaulted, and the actions police took in that time are the focus of an internal review.

Roper's daughter has never spoken publicly about her mother's death but is doing so now, in exasperation, at her struggle to find help and support for her mother.

Hart was found unresponsive and dying in the granny flat she shared with Everett by a suspicious neighbour, who the night before had comforted Hart while she cried bloody tears.

Everett - who was at the unit - reportedly appeared unconcerned for Hart and allegedly discouraged medical treatment.

"If she dies, she dies," he was reported saying.

Hart died in hospital the following day and Everett had an assault charge upgraded to manslaughter.

The Crown alleged he assaulted her so badly she suffered head trauma and a year after her death, in February, he was found guilty by a jury despite his denials.

The case was quietly wrapped up at the High Court in Auckland, without the high profile homicides usually attract.

But Hart is one of an alarming number of women dying at the hands of their abusive partner every year.

Between 2009 and 2015, there were 92 intimate partner violence deaths - mostly women with a recorded history of abuse.

In its most recent report the Family Violence Death Review Committee recommended an integrated family violence system to address New Zealand's high rates of domestic violence.

But it's clear to Roper that the system could still do with some work.

Roper says a factor complicating her quest to pull Hart out of her violent home was Hart's alcoholism, and her steadfast refusal of help.

The police case file is filled with statements from neighbours, friends and family detailing Hart's downward trajectory, including a heartbreaking swathe of admissions from those who witnessed the relationship - particularly Hart and Everett's drinking buddies at the pub - who say Everett routinely called Hart derogatory names and used her for money.

"The first time I met Kevin and Lee it was obvious he had no respect for her," one statement reads. "Some of the names I remember him calling her were a f..... c...., fat lazy bitch and a f.... liar."

One friend remarked before her death, Hart appeared "miserable and really unhappy"

"Lee and Kevin were bad for each other. He would complain in the bar about her, things like, 'she's just an alcoholic'. He would say things like, 'Lee is such a problem in my life she's just a piss head'.

"Two or three months ago I saw Lee outside (the pub). I said, 'how are you going Lee?' She was in tears and said to me, 'I don't know what I'm doing wrong.'"

Young neighbours riding their horses next door witnessed Everett pulling her by her hair around the house, and Hart made a number of admissions to her ex-husband and neighbour that he was violent.

But alongside those admissions, were claims by her, the abuse was her own fault. She told police she loved Everett and didn't want him to leave her.

Hart's dependence on Everett and her disengagement with her supportive children wasn't always the case.

One of Roper's enduring memories of Hart was how houseproud she was. Every weekend Hart would throw open the cupboards of their home and spring clean the place from top to bottom.

She once bought her own carpet cleaning machine, such was the thrill of a glistening home.

Roper laughs about it - remembering how pristine and perfect the house was.

Hart didn't have a qualification to her name but worked her way up in the mail sorting industry and eventually was able to buy her own home. She was proud of that.

The recollection is in stark contract to Hart's final years. After she lost her home she quietly moved into a port-a-com at the back of an industrial work site with Everett.

At her lowest point, not long before she died, Roper found her mother lying in bed in the middle of the day with nothing but a bucket and a cask of wine nearby.

By then she had trouble just walking and an office wheely chair she used to get around the house had been broken. Hart told Roper Everett had smashed it.

Roper says the downward turning point in her mother's life was several years ago when she changed jobs into a role that made her deeply unhappy.

She quit with nowhere to go and struggled to find more work. Eventually she found a role in Wellington, but on her first day in the job she was struck down by a sudden serious illness, and eventually lost that job too.

Roper realised her mother was drinking heavily - something she hadn't done before. She was also secretive about her new relationship with Everett, a longtime friend.

Hart's appearance changed. She seemed to age overnight, and had trouble moving. Her face was yellow, and puffy.

She was forgetful, and Roper found a piece of paper with reminders Hart had written to herself including that her daughter was pregnant and how far along she was.

Roper suspected there was violence in the household - she was appalled at Everett's treatment of her - but Hart refused to discuss it.

It was around this time Roper says she began to feel frustrated with the services available. While Hart was seen by CADS she couldn't be admitted to a residential detox treatment centre without Hart's consent, and beds were few.

Each time Roper contacted an agency she found herself re-explaining Hart's situation and wondering why records weren't centralised to show her mother's history of domestic abuse and alcoholism.

She considered taking her out of her home and finding a bed with Women's Refuge, but Hart's frequent intoxication made that difficult.

Roper says the whole system is set up for a victim to drive change - and that would never happen with Hart.

Reluctant to physically intervene while she was heavily pregnant, Roper asked police to check on her mother's welfare.

Records show Hart also asked police for help, as did her neighbours, and Hart's ex-husband. Eight times between 2014 and 2016 police were called to the couple's home to follow up reports of violence and loud arguing.

Roper says police weren't good at following up with her about the outcome of the visits, and she was frequently told details couldn't be disclosed to her on account of Hart's privacy.

Roper says if there was a centralised information system which police could see Hart's trips to the hospital for her alcoholism, perhaps police would have taken into account her deteriorating mental state, and her unlikeliness to leave the situation.

"We went looking and came up against dead end after dead end," Roper says.

"I was really surprised … it wasn't that people weren't trying to be helpful. People were very kind and would offer some surplus information or point us in another direction but I think…the idea of someone championing it and (saying) 'here is everything that is available, we can co-ordinate with you and the family'. There was no place that was centralised."

But the police do keep information on callouts it has made to addresses, and had that information to hand on the National Intelligence Application when it visited Hart and Everett's home.

Along with Police Safety Orders (PSO) and Protection Orders, police can refer matters to its family violence specialist teams who can attempt to work with victims and offenders.

This can include a joint approach with its partner agencies Oranga Tamariki, Shine, Victim Support and Women's Refuge.

While a protection order is a court process typically driven by a complainant, a PSO can be ordered by police to separate a complainant and an offender, without the consent of either.

In the case of Everett and Hart this was employed just once.

Each time Hart refused to make a formal complaint against Everett and protested being separated. Twice police saw Hart had bruising and two particularly significant episodes saw Hart disclose Everett was violent towards her and she was scared of him.

"Lee stated that she loved Kevin and she thought it was her fault that he did this," one of the police notes says. "She didn't want him to get into any trouble...She (stated) she knew she couldn't live like this anymore." On that occasion police opted not to give a PSO, or separate the two.

Another time, called to the home by Roper, police noted Hart appeared "borderline demented", alleged violence, was frightened of going to hospital, and seemed "unable to take care of herself". But police opted to leave her alone with Everett in the absence of any alternative accommodation arrangements.

A crisis team referral was made.

Women's Refuge chief Ang Jury is surprised police didn't initiate a PSO every time they were called to the house, or make an arrest when they saw Hart was bruised.

A five day PSO would have given a social worker time to do some work with Hart, she says.

"One of the consistent findings that's come out of the Family Violence Death Review Committee, is the need for us to stop making a victim responsible for their own safety and recognition of the fact sometimes it's simply not possible, and the rest of us have to stick our hands up and intervene. But that sort of intervention is only possible from a statutory body like police."

In a statement, Waitemata Police Detective Inspector John Sutton acknowledged Hart's death was a tragedy and it was "clear that she and Everett were in a volatile relationship."

"Police attended their address on multiple occasions and while often it seems as though these types of incidents can be straight forward, that is not always the case," he said.

"At each incident we attended, there was no complaint forthcoming, nor were there any witnesses."

Initial enquiries found at least three referrals were made to Hart for support organisations, he said.

It is standard procedure for police to conduct a formal review after a death involving family violence and Hart's was no exception.

"This will allow us to see if there were any learnings or opportunities for intervention."

Roper was unaware of the review, and had not been contacted by police.

While she doesn't criticise the police, nor any agency who had contact with Hart, Roper says clear integration between them all could have made a difference.

"The whole system looks at the person like a victim or a subject, someone who needs to be fixed or removed from the situation," she says.

"I feel like, if the care systems that were available looked at them as a whole person, that may have made a real difference to her."

WHERE TO GET HELP

Victim Support - 0800 842 846 (24hr service)

Women's Refuge (Females only) - crisis line available on 0800 733 843

Alcohol Drug Helpline (open 24/7) - 0800 787 797. You can also text 8691 for free.

If you are in danger call 111.

STUFF Police are one of the few agencies in the country that have the statutory power to remove a victim from her offender without their consent.