You might have noticed the recent advertising campaign for holidays in Daylesford. My partner Sally certainly did. And we (being she) chose Daylesford for our Christmas holidays.
If it had been Christmas 1864, we might have regretted the decision. Daylesford was then the scene of a notorious murder: local resident Margaret Graham was killed by a murderer who, allegedly, had come down the chimney.
Christmas was ruined! Daylesford’s populace was afraid. The police charged a vagrant, David Young, with the crime.
Evidence was adduced from a doctor (a ‘Dr Doolittle’), a scientist (“I cannot dis-tinguish male hairs from female hairs”), and a chemist (“I cannot decide whether it is human or animal blood”). CSI it was not.
And yet Young swung.
But I doubted he dunnit.
Sally and I wanted to find out for sure. We decided to ask the one person who could settle the matter: the victim, Margaret Graham, herself. We sought out a local medium (and, it being Daylesford, we were spoiled for choice). After sifting through brochures, we arranged a meeting with a medium who had certain qualifications that piqued my interest: “BA, LLB”.
I gave the medium my card. She gave me two in return: ‘Sarah Byrne, Medium & Clairvoyant’ and ‘Sarah G Wade, Solicitor’.
“You actually practise?”
“That’s right,” said the medium. “I’m the principal of my own firm.”
“Wow – your clairvoyance must really come in handy!”
“I knew you were going to say that.”
“And I bet you always know when to get money in trust,” I said shaking my head in admiration.
Sarah told us war stories of law …
“In court, my client Bluey starts quoting the Magna Carta, no less!”
… and tales of the other world …
“I woke up! And standing over my bed is a boy who just died.”
… and stories with a bit of both …
“Then I find out that Bluey’s killed my main witness! Sadly, Bluey’s dead now as well.”
“I guess that’s typical rural practice for you,” I said. “One day the guy’s your client, the next day he’s knocked off your key witness, and the next day he’s rattling chains at the end of your bed.”
After our collegiate catch-up, we established the terms: no Margaret Graham, no fee. (Mediums, it seems, also work on
spec.)
“But I can tell you one thing already,” said Sarah. “David Young didn’t do it.”
Sarah closed her (heavily made-up) eyes, and covered them with her (heavily bejewelled) hands. Then she revealed her face, dilated her pupils, and started speaking in bursts.
Margaret was there. After speaking with Sarah (at some length), she gave the murderer’s name: Mickey or Mick. A sur-
name, alas, proved more elusive…
“She had business smarts,” said Sarah. “If she had lived on, she might have made a good madam. If she were alive today, I think she could have made a good lawyer.”
We thanked Sarah and paid for her time. The rate was far more reasonable than I have come to expect from most lawyers (or madams).
We had the murderer’s first name, but the evidence had come via hearsay (at best) from a translator (of sorts). We wanted direct evidence. We gathered our torch, candles and Bible and went to the scene of the murder.
Dr Doolittle had put the time of death at 11 pm. (Our medium concurred.) Sally and I made sure we were at the scene of the crime at 11 pm, 145 years to the day after the murder, spooking ourselves.
We waited until midnight, jumping at every shout of seasonal revelry that echoed over the town, but there appeared no
apparition for cross-examination.
We drove home in silence. Suddenly, there was a kangaroo in the lights! Margaret Graham reincarnate? Or had Dr Doolittle come to say his piece? Could it have been Mick … or Mickey? Mickey? Mickey, the bush kangaroo?
The beast gave nothing away. We gave it the benefit of the doubt. I hit the brakes. It hit the bush. We hit the hay. Everyone, I think, rested in peace.