The Popeye Murder

by Sandra Winter-Dewhirst

  ‘Drop it or you are a dead man,’ screamed Gary.

  Rebecca squinted. Gary was at the bottom of the cellar steps, pointing a Smith & Wesson semiautomatic at Nick’s head.

  Nick dropped the machete.

  ‘Now kneel down with your hands behind your head,’ commanded Gary.

  As Nick lowered himself he noticed a glass wine pipette with a hard rubber handle lying on the nearby table. He sprung up, lunged at the table, grabbed the pipette and threw it hard at Gary.

  The pipette hit Gary in the chest and shattered. It wasn’t enough for him to drop his gun, but it did surprise him. In the confusion, Nick lunged.

  Rebecca yelled, ‘Watch out, Gary!’

  The two of them fought. In the scuffle, Gary dropped his gun. Nick lunged for it, but Rebecca’s bound feet were there first, and she kicked the gun further away. Instead, Nick picked up the machete.

  Gary backed off, looking for something that he could defend himself with. Nick stepped toward him, lifting the machete above his head, and bringing the blade down just as Gary jumped out of the way. ‘Stay still, you bastard,’ said Nick as he lifted the machete above his head again.

  Gary managed to pick up the hard plastic pipette handle off the floor as the machete came down again. He grabbed Nick’s arm and held the machete at bay long enough to smash the pipette handle into the side of Nick’s head. Nick dropped the machete and fell unconscious to the floor.

  Gary rushed to Rebecca’s side and hugged her to him.

  Rebecca burst into tears. ‘Thank God, Gary. Thank God you turned up when you did.’ She began to shake uncontrollably, and Gary held her tight.

  ‘It’s okay now. You’re safe.’

  He undid the ropes from her hands and feet and lifted her to the chair.

  ‘Now you sit here for a few minutes while I handcuff this jerk.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rebecca quietly.

  Gary leaned over to handcuff Nick but he was awake. He grabbed Gary by the neck and started to strangle him, while Gary hit him on the side of the head. But Nick was a crazy man, and his grip only tightened. Gary began to turn blue.

  ‘Let go of him or I’ll shoot!’ yelled Rebecca, gun raised.

  ‘You haven’t got the guts,’ Nick hissed coldly.

  A bang from the gun echoed through the cellar.

  Gary rolled off Nick’s body, gasped for air, and rose to his feet. He looked at the scene. Rebecca was still holding the gun, staring at Nick, who lay on the floor holding his leg, screaming. Rebecca had shot off his kneecap.

  ‘Good work, Rebecca,’ said Gary, now having no trouble hand­cuffing Nick.

  He walked over to Rebecca and gently took the gun from her and replaced it into his holster. He again took Rebecca into his arms, and she buried her head into his shoulder. They remained like that until they heard footsteps.

  Detective Kym Lee and half a dozen police officers swarmed into the cellar.

  Close behind the police were Reg and Jo. ‘Get plenty of photos. We might not be able to use them until after the trial, but when we can, these shots will give us a sensational exclusive,’ Reg barked.

  ‘Glad you found us, boys,’ said Gary.

  Reg rushed over to Rebecca. ‘Jesus, Rebecca, are you all right? Your face looks like a piece of raw meat.’

  The Next Steps

  Gary took Rebecca to the hospital. She needed stitches to a nasty cut above the right eye, and while X-rays revealed neither her jaw or nose were broken, her face was heavily swollen. The bruising was already coming out around her eyes and cheekbones.

  ‘You really should listen to the doctor and stay in overnight for observation. You’ve been beaten up pretty badly, and you could be in shock.’

  ‘No, I’m fine. I just look like crap. I want to go home.’

  While Rebecca was in the hospital being checked out, she knew Reg was in the office writing up the story. By the morning, he had brought his draft around to her house.

  ‘Feel free to add or subtract,’ said Reg, handing her his copy and then flopping into a chair next to the fire. ‘Your own personal story will be a ripper, but I won’t need that until later today.’

  ‘Ease up,’ said Gary. ‘Rebecca’s been through a nightmare, and you expect her to read your article, sub it, then spend the afternoon writing her own?’ Rebecca was glad Gary had slept on her sofa after driving her home. She felt safe.

  Both Rebecca and Reg looked at Gary incredulously. ‘Bloody oath,’ said Reg.

  ‘You’ve got to understand, Gary,’ said Rebecca. ‘I’m a journalist. This is my job. Sure, I’m a bit shaken, but we have a deadline. I’ve got to do this.’

  She spent the next few minutes squinting through her puffy eyes, editing and adding copy, before eventually handing the pages back to Reg. ‘There you go. Publish that. We have to be careful what we say now that Nick has been charged, but it is still a great yarn. Of course, the lawyers will want to massacre it.’

  ‘Great stuff, Rebecca. You’re a pro. Let me deal with the lawyers. And I’ll see your story by this afternoon.’ It was more of a statement than a question. With those parting comments, Reg was out the door.

  Gary leaned over Rebecca’s chair, ‘I’ve rung Penny, Lisa, and Jonathan. They will be here shortly to take care of you. I’ve got to get back to work. Try to take it easy Rebecca—you’ve had a shock.’ Gary placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ve also arranged for the police psychologist to come around tomorrow, although I know you think the best therapy is for you is to talk it out with your friends.’

  Rebecca placed her hand on top of Gary’s. ‘Before you go, there’s something you need to know. Nick said he didn’t kill Will Oliver. Now, I’m not sure if he is telling the truth, but I guess he had no reason to lie to a woman he was about to murder.’

  ‘He was telling the truth. Nick Pecorino didn’t kill Will Oliver—Snakehead ordered the hit. It’s a bikie-gang killing. We had an informant come in last night. He wanted the reward. I think we have enough to pin it on Snakehead and the stooge who did the execution. Snakehead thought it would be clever to make it look like the murder was done by the same guy who killed Leong Chew, hence Will’s head in the horse trough. The informant was able to take us to Will’s body. It was dumped in a pile—along with a couple of hundred unwanted greyhounds about to be incinerated.’

  ‘Right,’ said Rebecca. ‘Nasty stuff all around. But why did he kill Will? What did Will have on him?’

  ‘Well, it appears that Will Oliver was a deft hand in putting concealed cameras in the boardroom of the greyhound-racing headquarters and recorded Snakehead and a couple of officials discussing how they were going to rig the Golden Bone Cup. There was also talk about live baiting. Plus the footage shows money changing hands.’

  ‘Where did you get the footage from?’ asked Rebecca.

  ‘The informant had a copy and handed it over. It appears that, while this informant is a bikie, he is also a dog lover. Interesting ethical dilemma.’

  ‘Oh,’ Rebecca smiled. ‘I must tell Reg.’

  Gary signed wearily. ‘Just don’t say where you got it from, as bleedingly obvious as it may appear, and for God’s sake, don’t publish anything that will prejudice the trial and get it thrown out of court. We want a conviction.’

  ‘No need to worry. You can trust Reg and me. Reg is more knowledgeable about sub judice and contempt law than any lawyer I know, and we have a few of those on call. We’ll be careful.’

  Gary leaned down to Rebecca and kissed her on the forehead.

  ‘Oh, and what about the tourism minister?’ added Rebecca as she looked up to Gary.

  ‘Don’t you ever stop thinking?’ Gary brushed Rebecca’s hair away from the oozing stitches above her eye. ‘My guys are getting a statement from Nick Pecorino. When I get back to work, I’ll go through the statement and see what he’s admitted to. And I will need a detailed statement from you too, but we can wait until tomorrow. We’ll go through Nick Pecorino’s bank records and com
puter files. If the evidence is there, we will be charging the minister with corruption. It’s going to be a shit fight. Wait until I tell Superintendent Bill McKie about this angle! He won’t like getting involved in a political case. And I’m not sure if Dorothy Plant isn’t involved in this in some way. I think she might have taken some bribe money as well. Detective Lee has found a couple of incriminating documents.’

  ‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. I’ve never trusted her,’ said Rebecca.

  ‘I know what you mean.’

  ‘Gary?’ Rebecca asked, tightening her grip on his hand.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘When we were having a chat at Wattle House the night of the dinner, you were about to answer my question, but we were interrupted.’

  ‘What question was that?’

  Rebecca looked down, suddenly shy. ‘You said you split with your girlfriend because you didn’t want the same things. What is it that you want?’

  Nick bent down and knelt in front of Rebecca, clasping her hand between his. ‘I wanted commitment.’ He then lifted Rebecca’s hand to his lips and gently kissed it.

  Rebecca was speechless. It was exactly what she had wanted and couldn’t get from Rodney. Was Gary the one for her? Would they work?

  Just then there was a loud knock on the front door.

  ‘That will be your friends, Rebecca. I’ll let them in on my way out,’ said Gary.

  He placed Rebecca’s hand back in her lap, gave her another kiss on the forehead, careful to avoid the bruising, and added, ‘I’ll be in touch.’

  Afterword

  If you live in another country, you may be intrigued and want to know more about where this book is set. Adelaide was ranked as one of the top ten cities in the world to visit by Lonely Planet’s ‘Best in Travel 2014’.

  One of South Australia’s most significant claims to fame is that, in 1894, it became one of the first places in the world to give women the vote. Women with property in South Australia were allowed the vote from 1861, but all women, including Aboriginal women, were given universal franchise in 1894. Aboriginal men in South Australia were permitted the vote from the time the constitution of the convict-free colony of South Australia was framed in 1856.

  A little-known fact about Adelaide is that media mogul Rupert Murdoch—of News Corporation and 21st Century Fox fame—started his media conglomeration in Adelaide with the News newspaper in 1952, after taking over the business from his father, Sir Keith.

  Up until 2004 and before he moved his headquarters to the United States, Murdoch held all of News Corporation’s annual general meetings in Adelaide. The AGM was always an entertaining occasion, although the catering could have been better.

  While Adelaide’s News no longer exists, Rupert does own the only local daily paper that still publishes in Adelaide, the Advertiser.

  Adelaide, with a population of just over 1.3 million, is arguably the finest food and wine city in Australia. It has a Mediterranean climate, with cold winters and hot summers, its food and wine shaped by climatic extremes. It’s bound to the east by the Adelaide Hills and to the west by pristine beaches, and its architecture is distinctive, laid out by Surveyor General Colonel William Light in 1836 in a grid fashion, divided by wide boulevards and encircled by over six hundred hectares of park lands.

  The mainly English settlers of the colony of South Australia found an abundance of stone, particularly bluestone and sandstone, to build fine Victorian buildings. Grand public buildings grace North Terrace, and mansions and Queen Anne villas are not confined to one or two suburbs but can be found in dozens of inner suburbs. Stoneworkers’ cottages line narrow streets, immediately behind the boulevards. Sprawling stone-and-brick gentlemen’s bungalows built in the early twentieth century line street after street of suburbs only a few kilometres from the city, often hidden behind spruce hedges and shaded by towering trees of oak, jacaranda, plane, or native eucalyptus. Stucco art deco apartment buildings and picture theatres of the 1920s can still be found dotted around. Adelaide stands out architecturally as one of the best-preserved and most beautiful cities in Australia.

  The state is home to 720 wine producers, and more than half of all Australian wine comes from South Australian vines—and not just the cheap stuff. Some of the finest wines in the world are made in South Australia, including Penfolds Grange and Henschke’s Hill of Grace. Depending on the vintage, a bottle of Penfolds Grange can sell for thousands of dollars—sometimes tens of thousands.

  The rich and flinty soils of the major grape-growing districts—the Barossa Valley, Eden Valley, Coonawarra, McLaren Vale, Clare, the Limestone Coast, the Riverland, and the Adelaide Hills—create distinctive-styled wines that win medals in wine competitions all over the world.

  As for food, Adelaide has a sophisticated food culture. Interestingly, the food cultures of Adelaide and its neighbouring city, Melbourne, have been heavily influenced by the large influx of Italian migrants from the 1920s to the 1970s. The Germans and Greeks made their own significant contributions, and the Vietnamese, as refugees in the 1970s, had a strong influence on the beginnings of the Australian-Asian fusion of food, as did the Chinese. But the dominant influence on the best food to be found in Adelaide, in my opinion, is Italian. The Italians influenced the development of market gardens, the setting up of the Adelaide Central Market, the consumption of traditional espresso coffee, and the making and drinking of table wine.

  Many Germans escaping religious persecution from the Prussian province of Silesia settled in the Adelaide suburb of Klemzig and other parts of South Australia from 1838 onward and became the founding pioneers of the world-renowned wine-producing Barossa Valley in 1842. The Germans were market gardeners and brought grapevines from France in 1843. The Barossa Valley is home to the oldest shiraz, grenache, and cabernet vines in the world. Unlike most of the old vines in Europe and much of the world that were wiped out by phylloxera in the 1870s, the Barossa Valley vines have always been free of this disease and survive to this day.

  The Germans also brought their knowledge of how to make wursts and other sausages. Nowhere else in Australia is a smoked sausage called fritz, after the colloquial and politically incorrect term for Germans.

  Unfortunately, it was not until the early 1980s, when Adelaide’s chefs started to experiment, that South Australians began to consume native foods in any significant way. Some Adelaide chefs wanted to develop a unique Australian cuisine, drawing heavily on foods eaten by Indigenous Australians for over forty thousand years. Native or bush food is now commonly used, and some native foods can be found in supermarkets.

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