The Popeye Murder

by Sandra Winter-Dewhirst

‘Thanks, sweetheart.’ She stumbled down the corridor and into the bathroom.

  Coming out a few minutes later, Rebecca, disoriented, headed right instead of left, and found herself opening the door to Nick’s study.

  She looked around the room. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases covered three of the four walls, and a large desk stood in the middle of the room. She saw on top of the desk what looked like another artefact. Her curiosity won over her wine-numbed brain, and she picked it up.

  She was puzzled to see the holly with the red-variegated edges woven into a macramé-like belt. Also woven into the belt were a watch and a belt buckle. Despite her fuzziness, she immediately recognised the watch: it looked like the expensive Rolex that Jonathan had given Leong for his birthday last year. Jonathan had the watch engraved with Leong’s initials.

  She turned the watch over—and there, on the back of the watch, were Leong’s initials.

  A few minutes later, Rebecca came into the kitchen.

  ‘You took your time,’ said Nick.

  ‘Yeah, well, your bathroom is amazing,’ Rebecca said, trying hard to stay merry. ‘I couldn’t stop admiring it.’

  ‘Dessert is nearly ready. A sticky wine or coffee or both?’

  ‘Oh, I think I better have coffee.’

  ‘Perfect. If you’d care to sit down, I’ll bring everything out to the table.’ He smiled. ‘I need to use the bathroom myself now.’

  ‘Sure,’ said Rebecca, glad for an excuse not to be in his presence. She went outside, toying with her mobile, and watched through the window as he disappeared down the hallway. Did she have time to call Gary now? No way to tell. She needed to gather herself. There were a million thoughts going through her head. No, she couldn’t chance a call right now—not when Nick might return at any second. Straight after dessert she would ring for a taxi. She’d call Gary immediately and head straight to wherever he was.

  She took a deep breath. She’d only have to keep up the conversation and act like nothing had changed for the next twenty minutes or so. She could do that.

  Nick emerged, carrying two plates and two cups on a tray, which he set on the table. ‘Good choice on the coffee. It will go so well with the tiramisu.’

  Wanting to sober up quickly, Rebecca almost downed her coffee in one go. Nick smiled.

  As they ate their desserts, Rebecca tried to be chatty, but her heart wasn’t in it. Nick, meanwhile, seemed to have ceased making an effort. The last few spoonfuls of dessert were eaten in silence.

  ‘Well, that was beautiful,’ said Rebecca and then frowned. She was markedly slurring her words. ‘God, I think I’m drunk. I’m not usually such a lightweight.’ She blinked rapidly—why was her head spinning? ‘I better call a taxi.’

  ‘You’re looking a bit peaky, Rebecca,’ Nick said. ‘Come and sit down in the lounge while you wait for the taxi. And don’t you bother. I’ll call it.’ He helped her inside and to the front room. Rebecca was beginning to stagger.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ she slurred. As she slumped onto the lounge, the penny dropped. ‘You’ve slipped something into my drink.’

  But the words were barely out of her mouth before the room began to blur and then darken.

  Disposing of the Body

  Nick

  Nick worked quickly. He went to the underground garage and came back with rope and some rags. He stuffed rags into Rebecca’s mouth and then tied another rag around her face. He tied her hands tightly behind her back and bound her feet together. He dragged her by the armpits down the stairs to the garage and with some effort managed to get her into his boot.

  When he’d seen Rebecca go into his study earlier, he had cursed under his breath. He’d been so clumsy, not putting the belt in a safer place. He had narrowly escaped detection that morning when the police had searched his house. By a stroke of luck, he had taken the belt from the container in the car the previous night to continue to make Leong’s prized possessions into an artefact in the Dayak tradition. He had put the belt into a secret underground safe under one of his prized Turkish rugs in his bedroom. It was typical of police sloppiness that they hadn’t found the safe during either search they had made of the house. It had emboldened him even more.

  Nick reversed out of his steep driveway. It only took about twenty minutes at that time of night to get to Hollies Winery and Café in the Adelaide Hills. The winery and café was a neglected muse of one of his rich friends. The café only operated for the peak summer period and was closed for the rest of the year. The winery was never open to the public but just used at harvest time in February or March. A contractor who never went near the cellar tended the vines on the property. Once the wine from a select vintage was bottled and transported down to the owner’s vast cellar in his Rose Park house, and once the new year’s harvest was put into a mixture of vats and oak casks, the place was locked up and not visited again until the following February.

  Nick normally helped out on the one day of harvest that was set aside for a picnic. Each harvest, Nick was charged with opening the place and using the café kitchen to cook up food for the lunch. Anticipating that he might like to access a bit of wine for himself from time to time, he had had a replica key cut a couple of years ago.

  Nick pulled off the road into the long driveway that led to Hollies. He drove past the old stone café, with its verandah posts framed by the variegated holly. He stopped outside the large stone barn. After unlocking both the door to the barn and the cellar doors and switching on the lights, he unlocked the boot. Rebecca was still out cold. He heaved her heavy body out of the boot, roughly bumped her down the stairs, and placed her on the floor of the cellar.

  The Cellar

  Rebecca

  Rebecca blinked.

  ‘Hello, Rebecca. Had a good sleep?’

  She blinked again, and Nick came into focus—as did a small, dim room with a cement floor.

  ‘Where are we?’ she tried to respond, but she quickly realised she couldn’t make more than a moaning sound. She was gagged.

  ‘Cat got your tongue? You’re normally so full of opinions.’

  Rebecca tried to sit up, but her hands and feet burned with pain—they were tied, the circulation cut off. Her head felt like it’d been hit with a bat.

  What were they doing here? Was Nick going to kill her? She tried to twist her hands, but the rope cut into her wrists.

  Nick sat down on an old chair and stared at her. ‘You are so stupid, Rebecca. Do you think I am going to let anyone ruin my festival? I’ve worked too long and too hard to let anyone like you or Leong take it away from me.’

  All Rebecca could do was stare at him. She didn’t know what he was talking about.

  On cue Nick said, ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I killed Leong Chew. He was stupid too. Thought he could blackmail me and bring down my festival.’

  Rebecca glared at Nick. She was angry. She wiggled her body across the floor until she reached the chair, and she started to kick hard at Nick’s legs with her bound feet.

  ‘What the hell are you doing,’ said Nick while he grabbed at her legs. ‘You are wasting your energy, you crazy bitch.’ He grabbed her by the arms and roughly pulled her over to a table, where he tied her to one of its legs.

  ‘There, that should keep you in one place. You know you can’t get out of this, Rebecca. I’m going to kill you.’

  Rebecca’s eyes opened wide. She started to pull at the table and tried to move her legs to loosen the rope.

  Nick slapped her hard across the face.

  ‘Jesus, you’re a slow learner. Keep this up, and I’ll beat you to a pulp before I kill you.’

  Rebecca froze.

  Nick went back to his chair and sat. ‘Now where was I before you so rudely interrupted me? Don’t you want to know why I murdered Leong? Aren’t you curious at all?’

  Rebecca nodded. It was becoming clear to her that her chances of escaping were thin and she needed to buy some time.

  ‘Good. I’m pleased you’re interest
ed. Journalists are supposed to be curious. Not that you will be writing this story up. Pity. It’s a corker of a story. I don’t think you ever realised just how incompetent poor old Leong was. If it wasn’t for my blackmail money, his restaurant would have closed down months ago.’

  Rebecca wriggled her tongue, trying to loosen the gag, but it wasn’t working. She began to moan.

  ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, shut up.’

  Nick got up and came toward her. Rebecca flinched. But instead of hitting her again, he leaned over and roughly undid her gag. Rebecca spat out the rags.

  ‘Perhaps you should interview me. It would be a pity for no one to know my story. You’re the ultimate confessor. I can tell all and then kill you.’

  Rebecca let out a bloodcurdling scream and then cried ‘Help! Help!’ before Nick hit her in the face with a closed fist.

  Searing pain tore through her jaw. Blood spurted out of her nose. There was nothing she could do to stem the flow.

  ‘I thought I had made myself clear, but let me spell it out to you. Every time you do something stupid like that, I will hit you again and again and again. Besides, your screams are useless. No one can hear you. There’s not another person for kilometres.’

  Rebecca spat out a mouthful of blood. ‘Why was Leong blackmailing you?’ Rebecca said in a subdued tone.

  ‘Oh good, you’re going to play. Good move. He was blackmailing me because he found out I was bribing the tourism minister to get her government’s support for the Australian Food Festival.’

  ‘How did he find out?’

  ‘I confided in Leong that the government was about to cancel its support. I was worried sick and thought I could trust him. But when the government suddenly changed its mind, he became suspicious. He bugged the table the minister and I were dining at in his restaurant. I had specially asked for a private area so we could have a confidential conversation, but the bastard bugged the table. And he said he had multiple copies of the recording.’

  ‘But why kill him?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘Because he kept getting greedier, and I knew it had to end, or I was going to be in financial trouble as well. What with bribing the minister and paying off Leong, I was running out of money.’

  ‘How did you do it? How did you kill him?’ Rebecca tried to loosen the ropes around her wrists. She felt a nail sticking out of the table leg and started to discreetly rub the rope against it.

  ‘We always met at Hollies Winery to exchange the money, as I knew it was a safe place. I had arranged to meet again at six o’clock the morning after the Wattle House dinner for another exchange. It was very handy that the winery has a café kitchen attached, and I already had in mind that I would like to relive my ancestors’ custom. I used a Dayak machete. Cut his head clean off, stuck it in a turkey oven bag, and cooked it.’ He smiled at Rebecca.

  ‘I then put his body in one of these wine barrels,’ he said, pointing to a group of oak barrels. ‘I chose one of the port barrels, as they’re marked to be cellared for twenty years. Don’t think they will be able to identify much in twenty years.’

  ‘But why put his head on a platter?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘Publicity, of course! It’s been wonderful for the Australian Food Festival. I always knew it would be. Far from turning people away, it has drawn people in. Bookings have tripled.’

  ‘How did you get the platter on board Popeye?’

  ‘Easy. You were there. Platters and cloches were going everywhere. Anyone who had a platter and cloche—and that was about ten of us—could have been holding the one with Leong’s head on it. And even if I was discovered as the person who carried the platter with Leong’s head, it doesn’t link me to the murder.’ He added, with a flourish of his hand, ‘The secret is to act with confidence.’

  Rebecca felt sick. ‘What about Will Oliver? Why did you kill him?’

  ‘No! I didn’t kill Will Oliver. That was a copycat murder. Very flattering. And it helped confuse the police. Quite fortuitous really.’

  ‘But why kill me?’ Rebecca almost whispered.

  ‘Oh come on, don’t take me for a chump. You went into my study and saw my artefact with Leong’s things woven through it. Your curiosity is what has got you here. Your strength is your weakness and your weakness is your strength.’

  Rebecca knew she was dealing with a madman. ‘So how are you going to kill me?’

  ‘Chop you up with my machete and put your body in another of the port barrels. As for your head, I’m going to strip it of all its flesh, like my ancestors did to their victims. Eventually, once the fuss has all died down, I’ll put your skull on display in my lounge room along with my other treasures. I may even loan you out to a museum.’

  Rebecca groaned.

  ‘Damn,’ said Nick calmly. ‘I’ve left the machete in the car.’ He rose from his chair.

  ‘Now don’t go anywhere. I won’t be long.’ He switched off the cellar light as he left.

  Rebecca was left alone in the menacing, absolute blackness.

  She rubbed the rope harder against the nail. The rope seemed to be loosening.

  Something’s Wrong

  Gary

  Gary kept checking his phone. It was close to midnight, and he thought Rebecca would have called by now. Worried, he punched in her name and hit Call. The phone rang until it went through to message bank. He rang again. The call went through to message bank again.

  ‘Damn!’ He picked up his coat and keys and almost ran to his car.

  He dialed Reg on his phone, connected via Bluetooth to the car’s speaker system.

  A groggy Reg picked up. ‘Who the hell’s ringing me at this time of night?’

  ‘Have you heard from Rebecca tonight?’

  ‘No. Should I have?’

  ‘She’s not answering her phone. She promised to call me after she got home from dinner at Nick’s house.’

  Reg’s response was sharp, as though he was now very awake.

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m on the way to Nick’s place.’

  ‘I’ll meet you there. I know where he lives,’ said Reg.

  Only minutes later, Gary saw Reg pull up behind his car just as he arrived at Nick’s place. As Gary got out of the car, he silently motioned for Reg to stay put.

  Gary knocked on the door. There was no answer. He banged on the door, and Reg got out of his car.

  ‘I thought I directed you to stay put,’ said Gary.

  Reg ignored the comment. ‘What do you think has happened to Rebecca?’

  ‘I don’t know, but backup should be arriving any minute.’

  Just then two police cars pulled up on the street. Their sirens were turned off.

  ‘Break the door down,’ Gary ordered.

  Inside, they spread out. There was no sign of anyone.

  ‘Inspector,’ called one of the constables from the kitchen. ‘I think I’ve got something here.’

  Gary headed into the kitchen. The constable pointed to the bench top—it looked like salt crystals had been sprinkled on it. Gary tasted a few.

  ‘GHB?’ asked the constable.

  Reg walked in. ‘What have you found, Inspector?’

  ‘I think Rebecca’s been drugged.’

  ‘Shit!’ said Reg just as Jo Sharpiro entered the kitchen.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here, Sharpiro?’ said Gary.

  ‘I called him,’ said Reg.

  ‘Well, get the hell out of here, both of you. This is now a crime scene.’

  ‘Hang on. Hang on. Let’s work together. I want to find Rebecca as much as you do, and I think I have an idea.’

  ‘What idea?’

  ‘That holly. A reader has got back to us and told us where the holly can be found. Apparently it grows at a place called Hollies Winery and Café at 108 Shultzy Road, Piccadilly.’

  Gary gave instructions to the police at the house to keep searching for clues. He rang Detective Kym Lee and directed him to meet them at Hollies Winery and Café wi
th back up, as soon as possible.

  Gary rushed through the house, but something caught his eye in the lounge room. Nick’s machete was missing from its place on the wall. Oh, God, he thought. Why did I ever let Rebecca come here alone? Gary thumped the wall so hard he made a hole in the plasterboard.

  A Fight for Life

  Rebecca

  In the minutes that Rebecca had been left alone, she had managed to cut through the rope enough for it to loosen, and her hands were free. She hadn’t had the time to undo the ropes around her legs before she heard the barn door unlock.

  Rebecca could feel the adrenaline pump through her body. Nick came down into the cellar. He flicked on the light. Rebecca saw he was carrying a machete.

  ‘Did you miss me? Sorry to keep you waiting. It won’t be long now. But I better sort your port barrel out and make sure I choose a suitable year.’

  He looked around the barrels and checked their tags, obviously trying to find out how long they had been aged. He rejected several barrels, and Rebecca figured those had already been aged for some years. He finally paused by one and patted the top. He then slid an apparently empty barrel into place next to his chosen one. He picked up a jug, turned on the spigot, and emptied half the contents from the full barrel into the empty barrel.

  ‘Your body will displace a large amount of the port, and we don’t want a mess.’

  He set down the jug, stretching, and arranged a small wooden table next to Rebecca.

  ‘I’m going to use this table as a chopping block. I’ll place your head on it. It will help me make a clean job of it.’

  ‘You’re a sick bastard,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘Oh, come on now. Let’s not start name calling.’

  Nick walked over to Rebecca and was about to lift her up when she grabbed him by the hair and bit hard on his ear. Rebecca felt her teeth slice through flesh. She spat out the piece of gristle.

  Nick screamed. ‘You’ve bitten my ear off, you bitch.’ He hit her hard again across the face, but Rebecca managed to hit back. However, from a sitting position, her punches lacked power. Nick punched her until she almost blacked out. He re-tied her wrists as she nodded groggily. When Rebecca opened her eyes, Nick was holding his machete over her head.