Lisa’s smile this morning was the same smile that had greeted a frightened Rebecca over thirty years ago. Lisa’s smile always settled her.
Lisa’s long black hair was tied in a loose ponytail. She was wearing her navy-blue bank teller’s uniform over a blue polyester cardigan and a blue woollen coat.
‘You’ve had a hell of a week, Bec. What’s going on?’
‘Some madman or woman has seen fit to chop off the head of one of Adelaide’s top chefs, that’s what. But you know all that. I’m sure you’ve been reading the papers,’ replied Rebecca as she sat down and manoeuvred her trolley so it wasn’t in anyone’s way.
‘What did the head look like?’ asked Lisa.
‘Dead.’
‘Great description. Do you think you could elaborate?’ said Lisa.
‘Well, it was a glazed head. It was creepy. Leong’s eyeballs were cooked, which made him look like a zombie.’
‘Jeez Louise, how gruesome.’
‘Look, can we not talk about it? I feel like it has taken over my life at the moment, and I was really looking forward to just catching up with you and having a gossip over normal stuff.’
Just then the waitress brought their coffees, and the two ordered scrambled eggs on sourdough toast.
Rebecca took a long sip of her coffee before adding, ‘I’ve met a guy.’
‘What? Who?’
‘His name is Gary Jarvie. He’s a cop, a detective chief inspector.’
‘Not another bloody cop,’ replied Lisa. ‘I thought you might have moved on from cops after Rodney.’
‘It wasn’t being a cop that was the problem. It was that he didn’t love me. I won’t rule out dating cops just because of Rodney. I know you don’t like cops, given the trouble your brother has been in over the years.’
‘Okay, okay. Don’t take offense. And just to be clear, Rosco has never done anything wrong—he just had creepy friends. They were the ones who did bad things, not him. And I’m pleased to say Rosco has now seen those creeps for what they are and has moved on.’
‘Pleased to hear it.’ Rebecca took another sip of her coffee and kept her hands around the glass to warm her fingers.
‘So, tell me about this Gary guy,’ said Lisa.
‘Well, I’ve met him before, when I was going out with Rodney, but only to say hello to. He turned up at a dinner party I was at the night before the murder. The dinner party was at Wattle House in the hills. Gary lives just up the road in a cottage. It was a really stormy night, and his roof was half blown off. He came to Wattle House for shelter and ended up having dinner with us.’
‘So, anything happen between you two?’
‘No, not yet. I know he’s interested, but this bloody murder has got in the way. Gary is in charge of Leong Chew’s murder case, and I’m a suspect!’
‘Awkward,’ replied Lisa. ‘So what are you going to do? He can’t seriously think you are a suspect.’
‘He has to think of me as a suspect until he can definitively rule me out, which I hope is soon,’ said Rebecca.
‘So, I repeat, what are you going to do?’
‘I can’t do anything, can I? I just have to wait until this murder is solved, which could be a long wait.’
‘Oh, well, I guess you at least get to see him from time to time, given you are writing articles on the case and are a suspect.’
‘Yes, I guess so. Bloody frustrating, though.’ Rebecca paused. ‘I’m back talking about the murder again! It just creeps into every conversation.’
Just then their eggs arrived, and for the next twenty minutes, Rebecca and Lisa ate their breakfast and gossiped about their lives. It was nearly ten o’clock before Lisa excused herself and made her way to the nearby bank branch in Gouger Street where she worked.
Rebecca spent another hour wandering the market, filling her trolley with delicious morsels before heading home. She knew she had a busy afternoon at work, getting that week’s Taste supplement bedded down and doing some sleuthing work on Chew’s murder. But for now, she savoured the sights and smells of the market.
Le Petit Choux Choux
Francois
That same Thursday morning, Francois Bacone was in the office of Le Petit Choux Choux, trying to put the finishing touches to his spring menu. It was building up to the busiest time of the week, with Friday and Saturday lunches and dinners as well as their newly instituted Sunday degustation lunch. Francois was agitated.
He had just brought his staff together for the weekly meeting to discuss his mantra, What’s working, what’s not, and any ideas on how staff could improve the experience for the customer? Francois had introduced the meetings a couple of years ago after reading about the technique in a management how-to book. Early on, the meetings had been bogged down in what was not working and tended to degenerate into bitch sessions. Francois had nearly given up after the first few meetings but had stuck with it, and now he knew the staff looked forward to the meetings as a way to have input into the running of the business. The meetings were now generally positive, and if there were problems, the people raising them would normally have solutions ready to go.
This morning’s meeting had been very different. For a start, Francois thought the new staff members from Chewie’s were feeling unsure of themselves. Francois speculated that Leong Chew had never held meetings and had never asked his staff for ideas. There was also a sense of shock as to what had happened the previous Friday. He could sense that everyone was a bit on edge. Francois overheard partial conversations, with speculation rife about motivation and suspects. He heard one of his staff speculate that the killer may be a disgruntled patron who had suffered a bad meal at Chewie’s. He heard another say, ‘A gourmet killer is on the loose—no one in the food industry is safe!’ Will Oliver, a former sous chef at Chewie’s, was at the meeting, sitting quietly at the back of the room.
Francois normally chaired the meetings. Morning tea was always served, the chefs taking it in turns to make little morsels to go with their espresso coffees. Mini cinnamon scrolls had been the fare for today. Francois had not been himself, only half listening and occasionally asking a question that had already been answered. He kept looking furtively across at Will Oliver, who didn’t or wouldn’t look his way. Francois thought Will a rather strange fish who resembled a druggie, with his gaunt appearance, tattoos, and multitude of piercings. Francois had never seen Will wear anything but black. But he knew Will to be a hard worker who never missed a shift and never panicked—a must-have skill for a busy kitchen.
In the end, Francois cut the meeting short with the excuse that he had to work on his spring menu. However, before he could escape to his office, Will stopped him.
‘Excuse me Francois. I know you said it was okay if I broke my shifts up across the day. Well, I need to pop home for an hour to check on my dogs. I’ve done all my prep. Nothing is needed from me until the lunch serving.’
Francois was irritated. ‘I’m not the person you should be speaking to. Talk to the duty chef about your shifts and when you can come and go.’
Francois wasn’t a dog lover, but he knew that Will Oliver liked dogs more than people. He’d overheard Will talk how he had rescued the greyhounds from animal welfare.
Francois was sitting at his desk working on his spring menu when he noticed Will drive out of the restaurant car park. A few minutes later, Francois grabbed his coat and left by the kitchen door, not saying where he was going. He drove off in his black Porsche.
Depasturing
Rebecca
Rebecca woke early that Friday morning. She had promised Penny Tavanagh that she would join her to exercise her horses, and they had arranged to meet at Paddock Two in the park lands off Lefevre Terrace at six that morning. Penny kept two stock horses in the park lands because she lived at St Peter’s, a suburb that fell within a two-kilometre radius of the paddocks, a council requirement. Penny was agisting the horses, but the Adelaide City Council refused to use the term agisting, calling it depasturing inst
ead. Rebecca thought it amusing that the council hoped the word depasturing would placate the public criticism that came from allowing horses to be kept on park lands. The council spin was that the horses were saving the council from having to spend money cutting the grass. Rebecca knew most of the public saw it as the council catering to the privileged and wealthy.
Rebecca had come to horse riding a bit later in life than Penny. Penny had gone to Wilderness, a private girls’ school just up the road from the horse paddocks, at Medindie. Penny had had her first pony at twelve. However, there hadn’t been many pony clubs in the suburb of Windsor Gardens, where Rebecca had grown up. The closest she had ever gotten to a horse before she was in her early twenties was at the Royal Adelaide Show each September. She had watched the dressage on the show oval every year. After the show jumping, she would wander around the horse sheds, dreaming of one day being able to ride and perhaps even have a horse of her own. As a twenty-first birthday present to herself, she had paid for some riding lessons at a small farm in the Adelaide Hills and became hooked.
From that first lesson, Rebecca tried to go horse riding most weekends and progressed to learning dressage. She loved being around horses, exercising their minds as well as their bodies. She often joined Penny in the park lands to help her exercise the horses.
Rebecca had first met Penny playing netball. Both had been chosen to play in the under-sixteen state representative team. The two of them had just clicked from the start, and they had had great fun together touring interstate or around country South Australia. However, their friendship hadn’t really blossomed outside of netball until Rebecca was working as a journalist and Penny had begun her career as a real-estate agent. During their teenage years, Penny had tried to be closer to Rebecca and had often invited her to parties and various outings, but Rebecca had always felt uncomfortable about attending. While Penny seemed oblivious to the difference wealth made in their lives, Rebecca was very sensitive to it. Often, Penny was not aware that Rebecca had said no to an invitation because she couldn’t afford to say yes.
Rebecca drove up alongside the fence to the paddock where Woodward and Bernstein were ‘depastured’. The headlights of Rebecca’s car shone onto the muddy verge and onto Penny’s Land Rover. Penny was working under the dimness of a streetlight, pulling out two saddles and placing them on the railing along with saddle blankets and halters. She would be glad of the headlights, so Rebecca left them on and hopped out to give Penny a hand. They were both wearing their uniforms: brown stretch riding pants and black leather riding boots. Rebecca wore a red jumper under her Driza-Bone coat. Penny wore a grey jumper under hers.
Rebecca said, ‘What’s up with Woodward and Bernstein this morning? They seem a bit agitated.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ said Penny. ‘I’m not sure what’s got them bothered. I hope no bastard has been interfering with them. A couple of guys were caught only last week, harassing a couple of horses in Paddock Three off Robe Terrace. Sickos.’
Rebecca strode up to the fence and called out for Woodward and Bernstein as she took out some sugar cubes from her coat pocket. This was the normal ritual. The sugar cubes were a surefire way to tempt the horses close enough to get the halters on them. But this time, Woodward and Bernstein wouldn’t come close. In fact, as Rebecca approached, both horses turned with a wild look in their eyes and took off for the far end of the paddock.
‘Something is definitely wrong,’ said Rebecca. ‘I don’t like this one bit.’
She hopped over the fence and walked within a few metres of the horse trough. Dawn was breaking, and she could make out the first rays of light outlining the ridges of the Adelaide Hills in the distance. The shadows of the gum trees that ran along the backs of the paddocks were coming into relief. She glanced across at the trough and saw something floating in it. She went closer to see what it was—perhaps something had been placed there to spook the horses.
Rebecca jumped back, her heart leaping into her mouth. She felt weak at the knees. Everything seemed to descend into slow motion just like when she first saw Leong Chew’s head.
‘Penny,’ she tried to say calmly, but it came out far louder and shriller than she’d intended.
‘What is it?’
‘There is a head in the trough. Two heads actually.’
‘What?’
‘There are heads in the trough,’ repeated Rebecca.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Penny. ‘Don’t tell me some sicko has put horse heads in the trough!’
‘They are not horse heads. There’s a dog’s head—but there’s also a human head.’
‘What? Who is it? God, I’m an idiot,’ Penny babbled. ‘Of course you don’t just happen to know who it is.’
‘No,’ Rebecca said. ‘I think I know who it is.’
‘Who?’ said Penny.
‘I think it’s Will Oliver. In fact, I’m certain it’s Will Oliver.’
‘Who the hell is Will Oliver?’ Penny climbed the fence, made her way to the trough, and stood beside Rebecca.
‘Will Oliver is a chef. He used to work with Leong Chew and now works with Francois Bacone. He is one of the suspects in Leong Chew’s murder. Now his head is in this trough.’
Rebecca looked at Will, whose eyes were staring at her from the trough. Straight away she was reminded of Leong’s poached eyeballs. Will’s waterlogged face had already started to swell, but it was unmistakably his face. His piercings were distinctive.
Rebecca reached into her pocket for her phone. She called Gary.
‘Hello?’ Gary sounded groggy.
‘It’s me, Rebecca.’ She paused, but there was no reply. ‘I’m staring at Will Oliver’s head. He is dead. He’s in a horse trough. There is also the head of a greyhound floating in the trough next to him.’
‘What!’ Gary suddenly sounded very awake. ‘Where are you?’
Rebecca could tell from his tone that Gary was worried—or that he thought her mad.
‘I’m at a horse paddock off LeFevre Terrace. I just got here to go riding with my friend Penny. You met Penny at the apple stall. Penny has horses agisted here.’ Rebecca took a breath. ‘The horses had been spooked by something, and I was trying to round them up when I noticed something in the horse trough. It’s Will Oliver.’ Rebecca spoke calmly. Her adrenaline had more than kicked in, and she was thinking very clearly, picking up on every detail that she thought Gary should know at this point.
‘Are you sure it’s Will Oliver?’
‘Yes,’ said Rebecca.
‘And it’s just his head?’
‘From what I can see. I haven’t gone fishing around in the water, and it is still pretty dark.’
‘And you said a dog’s head?’
‘Yeah,’ said Rebecca. ‘A greyhound. I know Will had greyhounds. People say the dogs were his only friends. But I’m not sure if it is one of his dogs.’
‘Okay, both of you, stay where you are. Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there within ten minutes. You and Penny go wait in the car. Keep warm, as you may be suffering from shock. I’m on my way.’
Dawn Breaks
Gary
Gary was staying at his apartment off Rundle Street, only about a kilometre away. He rang Detective Lee and briefly gave him the details, knowing that Detective Lee didn’t have to be told anything more than the headlines. He knew his job was to get the uniformed cops to cordon off the area, to get forensics down there, and also to call his partner, Detective Alice White. They would all need to get to the crime scene as soon as they could.
Gary pulled on his suit pants, creased shirt, jacket, socks, and shoes—all in under a couple of minutes. He bolted out of the apartment and pulled up next to the Land Rover shortly afterwards. The uniformed guys were arriving at the same time, blue lights flashing but sirens off.
Gary jumped out of his car and started issuing instructions. He scaled the railing and immediately went to the horse trough and pointed his torch into the trough. It was exactly as Rebecca had described. There
was no doubt that he was looking at the face of Will Oliver, albeit a little plumper than usual.
Gary gave instructions about leaving the heads for forensics. The police had already started cordoning off the area. Detectives Lee and White arrived, quickly conferred with the detective chief inspector, and subsequently issued instructions for the uniformed police to start combing the area for anything that could be associated with the murder, including being on the lookout for the rest of the body, a murder weapon, and any evidence of how the head got into the trough.
Gary hopped back over the railing and strode over to the Land Rover, where Rebecca and Penny were sitting in the front seats. Gary opened the rear door on the passenger side and climbed in.
Both Rebecca and Penny were staring at the proceedings. Even though dawn was beginning to break, the police had put up massive lights powered by portable generators. It had gone from being a deserted, still morning in the park lands to a full-on event with police swarming everywhere and generators masking the early-morning birdcalls.
Gary addressed Rebecca and Penny, slowly taking them through the details of that morning, jotting down anything he deemed relevant into his notebook.
The Public’s Need to Know
Rebecca
Rebecca was shaken but knew her duty. She had to get this story published.
After Gary had taken all the details that he needed for now from her and Penny, she put in a call to Reg and told him of the latest twist.
The Popeye Murder Page 10