‘What for?’ said Nick, looking taken aback.
‘It’s just routine, Mr Pecorino. You are still on the suspect list, and we often come back to suspects’ homes for follow-up searches. Personally, I wasn’t present at the first search, and I’ve decided to join my team this time around. We shouldn’t take more than an hour.’
‘Right then,’ said Nick. He opened the door wider to let them in.
As Gary moved into Nick’s lounge room, he was struck by the amount of indigenous art and artefacts hanging on the walls and scattered around the room. There were wooden masks, a woven cloth framed behind glass, and a wooden shield with demon-like faces carved into it. There was even a machete mounted on one of the walls.
Nick saw Gary looking and said, ‘Artefacts from Borneo. From the Dayak people.’
‘Why the interest in Borneo art and craft? Have you travelled there a lot?’ asked Gary.
‘I have been to Borneo a number of times, yes,’ replied Nick. ‘But these artefacts were left to me by my parents. Both are dead now. Mum was born in Borneo. She was a member of the Dayaks, from Iban Dayah in inner Borneo. My father was an anthropologist, studying among them. He met my mum, and they fell in love. So a bit of Italian heritage mixed with Dayak.’
‘Interesting,’ said Gary, noticing, not for the first time, Nick’s very olive complexion, black hair, and rather small stature. As these thoughts went through Gary’s mind, he moved to an old black-and-white photo of a group of Dayaks in traditional dress.
‘That’s my mother’s family,’ said Nick. ‘They’re standing in front of a longhouse, the traditional housing.’ After a pause, he added, ‘They were headhunters.’
Gary immediately turned to look at Nick. ‘What, in their past?’
‘Well, not entirely. The British and Dutch colonists had largely convinced the tribes to stop the practice by the early 1920s, but from time to time it was in the ruling class’s interests to encourage a resurgence.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, during the Second World War, the Allied powers encouraged the Dayaks to behead the Japanese. Then in the 1960s, the Indonesian government wanted to purge the communist Chinese from Kalimantan and saw the Dayaks and this beheading practice as a very handy weapon in their arsenal, so they encouraged it.’
‘What about now?’
‘No, I think it is largely a thing of the past now. You may get a rogue Dayak who goes berserk. In fact, the word berserk comes from the Dayak language. The Dayaks would have to get into a real frenzy in order to go out and behead someone, hence the descriptor. There is also the saying “wild man from Borneo” that you may have heard.’
Gary could not help but remember that phrase being used by his mother when he had come home from a particular muddy game of football.
‘Yes, of course.’
A constable came into the lounge room. ‘Sir, I think you need to see something.’
Nick immediately looked concerned as he watched Gary follow the constable out to his garage.
The constable directed Gary to a white plastic container still in the boot of Nick’s car. The lid was open, and the constable had picked up a skull in his gloved hands.
Nick had followed them out to the car. ‘That’s another of my artefacts from my parents’ collection. And yes, it is a real skull. At least three hundred years old.’
‘Why was it in the boot?’
‘I just recently lent it and a few other artefacts to the Festival Centre. They were showing some Dayak artwork as part of their Asia Festival, and because the CEO of the centre knows of my collection, he asked if they could borrow some of it.’
‘Pretty casual way of transporting priceless artefacts,’ commented Gary.
‘Well, they aren’t priceless. They’d be worth something, yes, but not a lot. And I’m not my father, cataloguing everything and not allowing anyone to touch anything. I probably wouldn’t even be able to tell you if something went missing.’
Gary looked in the boot and picked through the contents of the other plastic container that contained a range of carved totems, necklaces, and statues. ‘How come this skull isn’t carved like the rest of these artefacts?’
‘Sometime the Dayaks carved the skulls, and sometimes they didn’t. But I can assure you that it is, as I said, at least three hundred years old.’
Gary handed the skull to the constable. ‘Get it checked by forensics.’
Nick looked at Gary with surprise. ‘What, are you really going to have the skull examined by forensics?’
‘Routine,’ replied Gary, not wanting to go into a lengthy defence of police bureaucracy. He was convinced that the skull would be found to be as old as Gary had said and a genuine Dayak artefact, but there was due process to consider.
The rest of the search was uneventful.
The White House
Rebecca
At two o’clock that afternoon, Rebecca’s home landline rang.
‘Hello, Rebecca speaking,’ she said. Only a small number of people had her home phone number, so she was expecting the caller to be her mum. She was surprised when she heard Gary’s voice.
‘Hello, Rebecca.’
‘Hi, Gary.’
‘Well, we did the search of Nick Pecorino’s house this morning, and we didn’t find anything suspicious.’
‘What about the skull?’
‘It is an artefact from Borneo. You’ll see a lot more of them tonight if you go to his place for dinner. They’re everywhere.’
‘I didn’t know he was a collector of artefacts from Borneo. How strange.’
‘It appears that his mother was a native of the local Dayak people, and his father was an anthropologist who met Nick’s mother on one of his study trips. Oh, and the Dayak tribe were headhunters. Hence the skull,’ he added nonchalantly.
‘What the—’ exclaimed Rebecca. ‘Headhunters? Well, that’s a bit bloody ironic, isn’t it?’
‘A tad.’
‘So do you think Nick is some mad bastard who decided to resurrect an ancient ancestral custom to get back at people he doesn’t like?’ she said jokingly.
‘Maybe. Highly unlikely though.’
‘Right then. So I haven’t found the killer for you?’
‘No, you haven’t. But all the same, I don’t think you should go to this dinner tonight. He is still a suspect even though this skull is three hundred years old.’
‘I know you’re concerned, but I really feel I should go. We actually do have work to catch up on, and given this skull is just a Dayak artefact, I think I should stick to the original plan.’
‘I really would prefer if you didn’t.’
Rebecca now thought Gary was just being a bit too protective. She didn’t mind it. In fact, she quite liked it, but she wasn’t going to agree with him.
‘It’ll be fine. Don’t worry. I’ll call you when I get home tonight if you are that concerned.’
‘That would be great. I don’t care how late. Call me.’
‘Okay then. I’ll talk to you later tonight. And thanks for looking out for me.’
‘My pleasure.’
Rebecca spent the rest of the afternoon finishing up a couple of articles for Reg, piecing together what she could from the murders of Leong Chew and Will Oliver into a narrative. It was hard work, as the facts were pretty thin, and there was only so much speculation she could inject. Technically, there was no evidence to link the two cases, except that both gentlemen had lost their heads.
Rebecca also made a couple of calls to her staff members working on the food supplement, just to make sure they were on top of everything.
Her last work call was to Reg.
‘Gidday,’ answered Reg.
‘It’s Rebecca. Having a nice, relaxing Sunday?’
‘Watching the footy. The Blues are kicking the Crows’ arses, and it’s a wonderful sight.’ Rebecca knew that Reg was a devoted Carlton supporter. He hated the Crows and would rail against them anytime he could. ‘Bloody
Crows. Think they own this town. Think they’re the state side. Most of the dickheads in the sports section are Crows supporters. Wait for the headlines tomorrow: “Crows Valiant Attempt” or some such positive crap from the Crows’ perspective. Why not “Mighty Blues Bury Crows”? Fat chance. God, we’re parochial in this town.’
Rebecca had heard enough. ‘Reg!’ she yelled over his bellowing.
‘Yeah, what?’ said Reg grumpily.
‘Don’t you want to know about this skull?’
‘Oh shit, yeah. Sorry. What’s the latest?’
‘Well, it is a three-hundred-year-old Dayak artefact from Borneo. Nick collects the stuff. His mother was a Dayak.’
‘Good God. So it was all innocent. Although collecting heads is hardly innocent.’
‘The Dayak’s were headhunters,’ added Rebecca.
‘Headhunters! Well that is a bit ironic.’
‘That’s what I said. And another thing, I’m going to dinner tonight as planned.’
‘Are you sure that’s wise? He comes from a family of headhunters, maybe there is more to this than meets the eye?’ Reg had to raise his voice to be heard over the cheering crowd on the TV.
‘No. We are all just jumping to unfounded conclusions. Nick didn’t have to tell Gary that he came from a family of headhunters. Gary wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Gary’s smart but I don’t think he knows anything about Borneo history. No, the skull is part of the collection he inherited from his parents. Even the story about having the skull and other artefacts in his car boot after he loaned them out to the Asia Festival checked out.’
‘Okay. Now can I get back to the footy?’
Rebecca could hear from Reg’s tone that he was done with the conversation.
‘Hang on. Before you go, were there any responses to the holly photo and the query in the paper today?’
‘Haven’t bothered to look yet. I’ll take a look after the match,’ he said in a distracted tone. Rebecca guessed his focus was now back on the footy.
‘Okay, I’ll see you in the office in the morning,’ said Rebecca. Reg hung up without a goodbye. Rebecca shook her head.
As it was going to be a casual dinner, Rebecca decided to go comfy. She pulled on a pair of black denim pants with a forgiving, elasticised waistband. She chose a red-and-white-horizontal striped, three-quarter-length-sleeved top with a boat neck. She felt warm, casual, and chic. She also decided to take a taxi to Nick’s place, as she planned to have more than a couple of glasses of red that night. She felt she deserved it.
When her phone alerted her that the taxi was a kilometre away, she grabbed a bottle of red wine from her pantry and headed out the front to wait. She gave the taxi driver Nick’s Kensington Gardens address.
Nick Pecorino lived in a white modern house made from cement and glass. It stood out in the wide, leafy street lined with large bungalows from the 1920s. Rebecca quite liked the modern version of the classic art deco design. Due to modern engineering and technology, the flat roofs no longer leaked, and the improved glazing methods meant the occupants didn’t swelter in the summers and freeze in the winters. A thick, tall hedge of spruce softened the house. The taxi drove onto the polished concrete driveway, stopping before it fell away steeply to a garage built under the house.
The oversized black front door contrasted with the stark white of the plastered walls. Rebecca rang the doorbell and Nick opened the door with a smile.
‘Good evening. Welcome to my home.’ He stood aside, allowing her to walk past him. Rebecca handed him the bottle of wine and a large bunch of purple hellebores wrapped in brown paper and sealed with a piece of string. She had picked up the flowers at her local florist that afternoon.
‘Nice place,’ said Rebecca as she walked over the shiny cream-and-coffee travertine floor leading to a large reception room. The travertine extended across the entire reception and lounge area, covered in parts by a large burgundy Turkish rug. Rebecca could immediately see the Dayak artefacts hanging on the walls and scattered around the otherwise minimalist room. The seating consisted of an assortment of white leather lounges and chairs, including three Barcelona lounges. She couldn’t tell if the lounges were original Mies van der Rohe creations or replicas, but she thought they were most probably replicas.
A large cavity in the far wall housed a white, pebbled-stone gas fireplace. It was alight and gave the otherwise cold-looking room a warm focal point.
‘Very, very nice,’ said Rebecca. Feigning ignorance, she motioned to the artefacts. ‘So where did you get all these interesting pieces from?’
Following her eyes, Nick gave her the story that he had given Gary earlier in the day, explaining his Dayak heritage.
‘I never knew.’
‘Never knew what?’
‘About your Dayak heritage.’
‘It’s not a secret. You’ve just never asked, and there has never been a time when it has come up. I don’t make a big thing about it.’
Looking at a large ceramic jar on the glass coffee table, Rebecca asked, ‘What about this?’
‘That’s called a tajau. It’s supposed to bring good fortune and wealth.’
‘It’s beautiful,’ said Rebecca, running her hand over its smooth, cold surface. She took a few steps over to a wall with a large frame containing an elaborate feathered creation. ‘What about this one? It’s a headdress, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. It’s called a lelanjang. Only the very respected male elders and chiefs get to wear these headdresses. In the past, when headhunting was still practiced, mementos from their victims were woven into the various items of clothing, including the headdress.’
‘Headhunting?’ queried Rebecca, feigning ignorance once again.
‘Come on. I think it is time for a drink. Let’s go through to the kitchen.’
The kitchen was very industrial, with bench tops made from thick slabs of polished concrete. The cupboards were finished in shiny dark-grey laminate. A mirror served as a splash back and made the large kitchen look even more spacious. Three industrial pendant lights hung over the centre island.
‘What a stunning kitchen,’ said Rebecca.
‘Thanks.’ Nick grabbed a couple of wineglasses from one of the cupboards. ‘I’ll open your wine and let it breathe. Meanwhile, how about a glass of French Chablis?’
‘Sounds good.’
Nick poured the wine and then pulled back one of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors, stepping out to a large patio. She thought it a shame he never seemed to have parties here—or at least any she had been invited to. She followed Nick out to the patio.
A fire was lit in a large outdoor brazier. Rebecca was drawn to it. ‘I love these.’
Nick smiled. He turned the gas barbeque on to full. ‘I’ll let the grate heat up for about twenty minutes before I cook the steaks.’
They both took a seat on one of the outdoor all-weather chairs that sat adjacent to the fire.
Earlier Rebecca had noticed the two T-bone steaks resting on a plate on the kitchen bench. ‘Where did you get the steaks?’
‘I bought these from the butcher in Duthy Street. They are Angus beef and have been aged for forty days. I’ve just smothered them in some olive oil and seasoning. I have some homemade mustard from an old recipe I picked up in France over twenty years ago.’
‘Sounds divine,’ said Rebecca.
They discussed the Australian Food Festival and the various events that made it. About ten minutes into the discussion, Rebecca reached into her black leather tote and pulled out a notepad and pen. She wrote down what they were agreeing to in terms of events to be covered and talent to be interviewed. When the grill was hot enough for the steak, Nick rose and started cooking.
‘Are you happy to eat out here?’ Nick asked Rebecca.
‘Absolutely.’
Nick pulled a round iron table closer to the fire, along with two matching chairs. He fetched a couple of thick grey cushions and red mohair knee rugs from an outdoor cupboard and placed them on the c
hairs.
By the time they ate their steaks and polished off a couple glasses of red, Rebecca was feeling relaxed.
‘You know, these grisly deaths have been really unsettling. The most bizarre things keep happening.’
‘Yes, I know what you mean.’
‘You’ll never guess what I thought until this afternoon. I have a confession to make—and an apology.’
‘What?’ Nick looked directly at her.
‘Well, you are going to laugh at this.’
Nick smiled. ‘Oh?’
‘You know yesterday at the olive harvest, when I took the esky from your car?’
‘Yes,’ said Nick hesitantly.
‘Well ... and this is so funny ... I first went to look for the food in your boot.’
Nick paused midway through a sip of wine.
‘I lifted the boot and saw a couple of plastic containers,’ Rebecca went on. ‘I opened the one closest to me and saw the skull.’ Rebecca gave a little snort.
‘Immediately, I thought it might have been the victim of another one of these bodiless murders. One yet to be discovered. I told Chief Inspector Gary Jarvie.’ She was now on her fourth glass of wine and babbling. ‘I’m sorry. Your house was searched again because of me. I’m really sorry.’
Nick set down his glass of wine. ‘You’re a duffer, Rebecca. How about dessert?’ He had to raise his voice over her slightly hysterical laughter.
‘Oh, God, yes. Please tell me there’s chocolate.’
‘Of course. I’ve made a chocolate-and-cherry tiramisu. I just need to whip the cream and finish the last layer.’
‘Oh, goody.’ Rebecca pointed at Nick and said, her words slurring, ‘You’ve broken your rule of not doing any fancy cooking. Naughty naughty.’
Nick smiled. ‘Not really. It’s a very simple dessert. The only thing that required cooking in the oven was the chocolate cake. The rest is just thrown together.’
‘Oh, don’t be so modest,’ said Rebecca, adding rather urgently, ‘Where’s your toilet?’
‘Follow me.’
Nick took her back inside and pointed her down the corridor leading to the bathroom.
The Popeye Murder Page 16