‘How did you get on with Leong Chew?’ asked Gary pointedly.
‘Well, I’m not going to lie. We didn’t get on. Leong was always jealous of me, even when I was starting out in this country. He never gave me any encouragement. That’s okay. But when I did become successful, he became very nasty. He even found it hard to be in the same room as me. You might have felt the tension in the air at the dinner last night. He was always spreading rumours about me.’
‘What sort of rumours?’
‘Oh, things like I use horse meat. Horse is widely used in Paris of course, but I would never use it here, because people won’t eat it. They are repelled by it. It would be silly of me to serve it.’
‘What did you do to protect your business from these rumours?’
‘We French are very funny. I made fun of these insults. I would put signs up in my restaurant saying things like, “No horsing around here!” I would cultivate journalists such as Rebecca Keith to make sure she told a different story in her articles about my restaurant. And at the end of the day, I have just relied on delivering outstanding food that people talk about. Word of mouth has always been the best form of advertising for me, and it is working for Le Petit Choux Choux.’
‘When did you last see Leong Chew alive?’
‘Last night at dinner. I retired to bed just before midnight, and as far as I know, Leong Chew had already gone to bed. I never saw him alive again.’
‘Was anyone with you from the time you left the dining table until the time you entered it for breakfast?’ asked Gary.
‘Well, no, I was alone in my bedroom. I saw the others—that is, Jonathan, Nick, Rebecca, and Dorothy—at breakfast. With the exception of Rebecca, they were in the dining room when I arrived at about twenty past nine. Rebecca came in about twenty minutes later.’
‘Thank you, Mr Bacone,’ said Gary. ‘Please follow Detective White. We need to take your fingerprints and a sample of your DNA. We will be in touch. If there is anything you remember that you think may be relevant to the case, however minor, please call me.’
Dorothy Plant was next. Gary knew that Dorothy was the director of marketing and communications with the South Australian Tourism Commission. At dinner the previous evening, she hadn’t stopped talking about her role and all she had achieved. She struck him as being one of those competitive women who thought she was superior to—well, everyone really. During the conversation last night, he had been confused when she had referred to her ‘classical training’ in reference to her tertiary education. At first, Gary had thought she might be referring to studying ballet. He had thought her pompous and, more bluntly, a pain in the arse.
Gary addressed her formally. ‘Good afternoon, Ms Plant.’
Dorothy sat bolt upright, trying to portray the serious professional that she was. Her mousy brown hair hung in a short bob. Dorothy had a hard face. She obviously stuck to a strict diet, as she was thin to the point of looking gaunt. She wore an expensive two-piece mauve Chanel suit, although even the softness of the colour did nothing to soften her face. Gary had the impression that this was a tough woman who didn’t care whom she stepped on to get her way. She appeared to be much colder this morning than she did last night. It didn’t surprise him. He knew from experience that controlling people could turn the charm on and off at will.
Dorothy didn’t respond to Gary’s greeting but waited for him to go on.
‘Well then, Ms Plant, how long have you known the deceased?’
‘I’ve eaten at his restaurant for over twenty years, but I guess I really didn’t know him to speak to him until I became director of marketing and communications about five years ago and used him for various functions and, of course, worked with him more closely through Nick Pecorino and the Australian Food Festival over the past few years.’
‘So when did you see him last?’
‘Last night, of course. I went to bed when he was still at the table, and I didn’t see him again until today in that ghastly way on board Popeye.’
Gary cocked his head. ‘Do you know who killed him?’
Dorothy was silent for a moment. Gary thought it interesting she didn’t leap in with a defensive of course not!
Dorothy spoke in a measured and superior tone. ‘Do you think if I knew the answer to that question, I would be keeping it to myself, waiting for you to ask?’
‘I take that as a no.’
‘I think you can take no as the answer, yes.’
Gary could see he wasn’t going to get far with Dorothy. ‘Do you know of anyone who would want to see Leong dead?’
‘Probably a few, if truth be told. Let’s see now—there’s the obvious one, of course, Francois Bacone. They dislike each other intensely, professional jealousy and all. Then there is Will Oliver, the chef that Leong sacked last night. He may have been humiliated enough to take revenge on Leong. Then there is any chef or staff member that has ever worked for Leong—they all dislike him. Most of his staff only stayed with him for the money or for the reputation of working in one of the top establishments in Australia, although that star was fading fast. Even Jonathan had a volatile relationship with Leong, and you never know what passion drives the passionate to do.’
In her attempts at implicating as many people as possible, Dorothy wasn’t coming up with any hard evidence or leads, so Gary decided to terminate the interview.
‘We may have more questions for you later, Ms Plant. Please accompany Detective White. She will show you where you need to go to have your fingerprints and DNA sample taken.’
With that, Dorothy rose from her chair and followed Detective White out of the room. Gary couldn’t help but feel that Dorothy Plant was hiding something and that she couldn’t be trusted.
Rebecca was next on the list. Gary was dreading this. He knew he had to play it completely straight and treat her exactly as he treated all suspects. He knew he couldn’t let his emotions show, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
Gary studied Rebecca—her eyes darted around the room, as if afraid to meet his. Finally, she looked at him and smiled warily.
‘When did you last see Leong Chew alive, Ms Keith?’ said Gary.
‘Last night at dinner, Detective Chief Inspector.’
Gary was pleased that Rebecca addressed him formally.
‘I went to bed just before midnight. Leong Chew and I left the table at the same time. Jonathan was asleep at the table, and I asked Leong if we should help him to bed, but he just shook his head and said, “I’m not sleeping with a drunk”. I saw Nick Pecorino follow Leong into the corridor. Dorothy and Francois had already gone to bed, so I was the last one in the dining room, besides Jonathan, of course. I blew out the candles and then went to bed.’
‘How long have you known Leong Chew?’
‘I’ve only really known Leong for about three years, since taking on the role of editor of Taste for the ’Tiser. Of course, I’ve known of Leong Chew for years and eaten at Chewie’s many times. If you are interested in food like I am, you have heard of all the good chefs. Working as a journalist, I used to run into Leong at the occasional function, but it was not until I became a food journalist that we sought each other out. I wouldn’t say we were friends. It was more of a professional relationship.
‘However, I’m friends with his partner, Jonathan Riddle. Jonathan and I have known each other for a number of years. Of course, when Jonathan started going out with Leong, I got to know Leong better. I know Leong had a poor reputation with a lot of people, but I think that was overblown. He was just volatile. A lot of chefs are. Some say that his staff hated him, but I don’t think that is true. Leong is—was—a hard taskmaster, but he could also be incredibly generous. Leong was always doing kind things behind the scenes that he never trumpeted.’
‘What sort of kind things?’ asked Gary.
‘Well, I heard he paid for the cancer medication of one of his staff who had a brain tumour. The medication wasn’t included on the pharmaceutical benefits scheme and therefore
cost over $2,000 a week. Leong paid for the medication for ten weeks, but unfortunately the drug didn’t work, and the poor guy died anyway. All Leong’s staff knew of his kind side, so they cut him a lot of slack.’
‘When did Leong pay for this medication? How long ago was it?’
‘Oh, it was a few years ago.’
‘Did you know that in recent times Leong had money troubles and his business wasn’t doing well?’
‘Well, yes, I had heard his numbers had dropped off, but I didn’t know how serious it had gotten until now. Jonathan was just telling me all about it.’
‘Do you think he would have killed himself?
Rebecca looked puzzled, and Gary wondered if she had remembered his earlier reference to suicide as a possibility when they were on board Popeye.
‘I don’t know. Who can have a definite answer to that question? He never spoke about harming himself. But as I said, I didn’t even know he had serious financial concerns until half an hour ago.’
Gary decided to take a different line of questioning. ‘I’ve heard that Leong wasn’t too kind to Francois Bacone.’
‘No. No, they had a difficult relationship. Leong was very jealous of other chefs. I don’t think Francois helped though. Francois comes across as the romantic, sweet Frenchman, but he can be cunning.’
‘In what way?’ asked Gary.
‘He would always be coming to me claiming Leong was spreading rumours about him, but I never found any evidence of Leong spreading rumours, and that worried me a bit. I began to think perhaps Francois was making it up—I’m not sure why. I’ve speculated that perhaps Francois in some perverted way wanted to make Leong look bad and paint himself as the innocent. Francois was always trying to cultivate gossip that would lead to snippets in the paper. Perhaps Francois saw it as a marketing tactic?’
‘How do you know Leong Chew didn’t spread malicious rumours about Francois and his restaurant?’
‘I don’t have evidence either way, except I asked Leong straight out, and he emphatically denied it. And I believed him. Call it a woman’s intuition. I think Francois was the one telling porkies.’
‘Do you think Francois is capable of killing Leong?’ asked Gary.
‘I don’t know, Inspector. It seems incredible that he would, but then it seems incredible that anyone would. What I do think, though, is that whoever served the head up on a platter with the roast veggies had cheffing experience. The veggies were beautifully cut and roasted to perfection. The head looked succulent and not too dry. It wouldn’t have been easy to get the glaze so even.’
Gary was surprised by Rebecca’s rather graphic description. It was as if she was describing a roasted pig’s head, not the head of Leong Chew. Gary cleared his throat.
‘Thank you, Ms Keith. I don’t have any further questions. Do you have anything you think pertinent to the case that you would like to add?’
Rebecca thought for a minute or so and then added, ‘The only thing that is niggling me—and I don’t know why, exactly, at least not yet—is the fact that holly was placed over Leong Chew’s ears. The holly had an unusual red variegation around the edges. I’m not sure why that puzzles me—it is just that it isn’t a normal flourish one would expect at this time of year. It is unusual, and I wonder why it was used.’
‘Well,’ said Gary, ‘if you have any more thoughts on the holly, or if you have anything else you would like to tell me, please call.’ He handed her his business card.
Rebecca looked at the card, her eyes widening. Gary wondered whether he was sending the wrong message—perhaps she thought he was giving her his number for personal reasons. Then again, perhaps he was.
‘Yes, of course,’ she said.
As with all the other interviewees that day, Gary told Rebecca to follow Detective White to the room where they were taking DNA samples and fingerprints.
Detective Chief Inspector Gary Jarvie decided he needed to see the superintendent urgently. He had to raise the issue of his attraction to Rebecca and declare a conflict of interest before he got any deeper into this case. He left Detectives White and Lee to conduct the rest of the interviews with the various journalists, waiting staff, chefs, and guests.
HQ
Back at police headquarters in Angas Street, Gary went straight to his office and dialled the extension of Superintendent Bill McKie.
Gary knew his boss would do the right thing. Bill was an old-fashioned policeman. He’d grown up at Kimba on the Eyre Peninsula. As in all Australian towns, if you didn’t play sport, you didn’t get on. Bill played sport. Bill got on with people. He loved his Aussie rules and played centre halfback for the Kimba Districts Tigers in the 1971 premiership side, when his team whipped the Cowell Cats. It was the highlight of his life.
Bill McKie was noted for his straight talking and what he called a strong ‘bullshit detector’. He wasn’t what Gary would call politically correct. Bill’s pushback on some of the more ludicrous bureaucratic edicts was legendary in the South Australian police force. Like the time when an e-mail was sent out by the head of human resources stipulating the correct temperature for police officers to keep their sandwiches while on duty. Bill dubbed the directive Sandwichgate. Or the time the director of diversity e-mailed the entire SA police force asking for submissions of poetry for International Women’s Day. The brief was that the poems should focus on creating a gender-sensitive workplace environment. The winning prize would be the opportunity to discuss ‘the gender agenda’ with the director of diversity herself over morning tea.
Bill’s expletive-laden cries of disbelief had been heard the length and breadth of the fourteenth floor. His prompt reply-to-all e-mail read, What’s second prize? Dinner with the director of diversity? Bill was formally counselled for that one.
Gary respected him. He knew Bill was loyal and had his back. He only wished Bill had more support himself. Bill had a very challenging personal assistant, and one of the problems with the public service was that underperforming staff couldn’t be moved on easily. If someone tried, there were all sorts of tricks some staff would use to avoid being made accountable. Anita Lung was just such an employee. Gary knew that when he phoned Bill’s office, he would have to interact with Anita, and it was never easy. It was legendary that Anita often mixed up Bill’s appointments, resulting in Bill being double booked or turning up at the wrong venue or on the wrong day.
On this day, however, Gary caught Anita in between her personal calls and managed to get her in a relatively stable mood. Miraculously, the superintendent was in and could see him immediately. Gary jumped at the opportunity and went up to the fourteenth floor. There, he entered Anita’s office, an anteroom to the superintendent’s office. Manila folders were scattered on every surface. The folders were stuffed with papers with handwritten labels crossed out and recycled in no semblance of order. The pile of folders in the in tray spilled over into the out tray. There appeared to be no logical systems.
Gary opened the door to Bill’s office and walked in, but Bill wasn’t alone. He was in conference with two other officers discussing budgets. Gary apologised, saying Anita had said that the superintendent was free.
Bill rolled his eyes and said quietly, ‘This meeting was in my calendar. The officers came past Anita—I’m not sure what she is thinking. She must be confused.’ He got up and poked his head around the door. ‘You must be confused, Anita. Remember my finance meeting? Can you reschedule Gary for fifteen minutes’ time, please?’
Gary returned in the stipulated fifteen minutes. Anita wasn’t at her desk, and so he knocked on the office door.
‘Come in,’ said Bill.
As Gary entered the room, Bill gestured to him to take a seat.
‘Sorry about before,’ said Bill. ‘What’s up?’
‘Well,’ said Gary, ‘it’s about a potential conflict of interest in this latest case. The Leong Chew case.’
‘Bloody gruesome. This one will get you on the front pages and your dial on the TV news.’
Gary explained the case in detail and told the superintendent that, while he couldn’t yet rule out suicide, he was confident that he was dealing with a murder.
‘So what’s the conflict of interest you are grappling with?’
Gary explained his attraction to Rebecca. How he would like to take her out. How he had met her a couple of times when she was going out with Inspector Rodney Storer. Gary said he had been at the dinner last night, the last time Leong Chew had been seen alive by anybody except his murderer.
‘Let me get this straight,’ said the superintendent. ‘You have met Rebecca a couple of times before in a casual capacity. No conflict there. You fancy her. You’d like to take her to bed. Christ, show me a heterosexual male officer in the police force that, put in the same position as you, would think differently. As for last night, you have an alibi—you are not the murderer. You are not conflicted. Therefore, no, I will not take you off the case. Just keep your pants on and put off any romantic involvement with this woman until after the case is solved.’ The superintendent stood up and walked over to the window. ‘And thank God it isn’t a conflict of interest and I don’t have to replace you, because we are drastically understaffed at the moment. Another major crime case this week, and it might be the straw that breaks the camel’s back. I may even have to recall some officers from leave, and you know how I hate doing that.’
Bill took a deep breath and turned to face Gary. He was looking tired. ‘I’d offer you a tea or coffee, but God knows where Anita has got to.’
‘That’s okay, Superintendent. I’ve got to get going. If I’m to stay on this case, I’ve got a lot of work ahead of me.’
‘Then you better get onto it, son,’ said Bill affectionately, returning to his desk.
It was a busy week for Detective Chief Inspector Gary Jarvie. He followed a number of leads. Detective Kym Lee drove to Carrickalinga to check out Jonathan Riddle’s beach shack for any recent signs of Leong but found nothing. Detective White led the investigation into Leong Chew’s financial records and found that Leong was in a great deal of financial trouble and was illegally trading while insolvent.
The Popeye Murder Page 6