Today is the day that our cleaner arrives. She is provided by the Aged Care people who subsidise part of the cost and today was the day she carried out her regular assessment. It's pretty comprehensive and covers what kind of mop we have, do we have a shower chair with arms, that glass hall table will have to go, and so on. Today we were asked "do you have a personal alarm" and "do you have a key box at the front door"? Funny, we were planning to go to Bunnings this afternoon to get a key box so we're on the same page at least.
Thinking about getting old, leads into today's story, Murder at Shady Banks Retirement Home.
MURDER IN SHADY BANKS RETIREMENT HOME MAY 13, 2022
Muriel had lived at Shady Banks Nursing Home for the past twenty years. When her husband died she moved into a unit in the grounds of the complex and then into the large main building when she needed more assistance. She realised that she had been at the home longer than any other resident and she knew, for example, that Shady Banks was not named for the portion of the garden where some chairs had been put out under the trees. No, she knew it was named after Clive Banks, the businessman who had opened the home as a useful tax dodge many years ago. His associates all called him Shady, probably because of the many rumours which had circulated about some of his deals. Sadly, he hadn’t lived to enjoy the comforts of the establishment named in his honour, having died following a particularly memorable Melbourne Cup Day party in 2007.
Shady Banks wasn’t so bad, Muriel thought. She’d never expected to live into her eighties and days were often tedious, but the staff did their best to keep the residents’ spirits up. The food was often less than she hoped for and there wasn’t always a lot to do, but there was one young filipina carer who sang cheerfully all day, other staff told her about their children and, occasionally, a visitor would bring along a dog for the residents to fuss over.
Muriel’s favourite day was Friday when all the residents gathered in the Dining Room for morning tea; often they had a visitor who would be asked to talk to the group about something interesting. The best part was that, if there was time, Muriel would also be given the chance to read part of her latest story. Yes, Muriel was an author. Well, she hadn’t actually had anything published but she wrote a story every week, without fail. Most of her stories had a murder in them and she was very careful about her titles: Murder on the Sushi Express, set in a Japanese restaurant, The Murders in the Kew Morgue, Death on the Pile, influenced by scenes of the rubbish stacked outside flooded houses in Lismore.
Muriel was aware that not everyone listened to her stories but so long as they didn’t talk while she was reading and made reasonably polite and positive remarks afterwards, she was content.
Of all the residents of Shady Banks, there was only one whom Muriel disliked. This was Arthur, a retired butcher, who had spent his life on the killing floor of the Longford Meatworks. He was a coarse man and prone to unrestrained swearing when he was out of sorts. He didn’t like Muriel and thought her stories were ‘stupid bits of nonsense’ and had no hesitation in telling Muriel what he thought.
He also had a nasty habit of wandering around the nursing home late at night, putting his head around the doors of people’s bedrooms and saying Boo! He had been warned by the management about this but he took no notice. He seemed to single Muriel out for special attention and she began to dread going to bed at night, in case Arthur wandered by.
One morning, when the Early Nurse was doing her rounds she noticed a large figure lying on the floor of the loungeroom. The curtains hadn’t yet been drawn so it was hard to see the details but, on inspection, the figure turned out to be a large male whose head had been swathed heavily in bandages purloined from the Nurses’ Trolley. He was clearly deceased and later examination would show that he had been suffocated by the thick layer of bandages; there was also a laceration to his head caused by a blunt object. The police were called immediately and when the bandages were removed, the figure was identified as Arthur.
Nobody at the nursing home was particularly sorry that Arthur was deceased and there was more than one muttering of “Serves him right!” However, the police had to carry out their investigation to the best of their ability. It seemed a fruitless task until Imelda, the filipina carer arrived to start her afternoon shift. When the shocking occurrence was explained to her, she put her hand to her mouth and said, “I think I know who did it.”
She went on to remind everyone that the title of Muriel’s story last Friday was ‘The Case of the Bandaged Butcher’ and the plot was exactly as had been inflicted on Arthur. Nobody who had been there on the Friday morning had listened to Muriel’s story or, if anyone had, it had disappeared from their memories in the days following.
It was almost the perfect crime but Muriel was eventually found to have done it. In consideration of her advanced age and the fact of Arthur’s harassment of her over the years, she was found guilty but with extenuating circumstances. It was deemed not appropriate to send her to the overcrowded Women’s Prison at Risdon and she was sentenced to remain at Shady Banks Nursing Home for the term of her natural life.
Nothing changed much in Muriel’s life. She still wrote her story every week and read it to the group each Friday. The difference now was that her audience all listened … just in case.
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