James Chase - Shock Treatment

He left his car at the gate and came over to me.

“Hello there, Mr Regan,” he said in his breezy college manner. “I’ve brought you some money. It’s not much, but it’s better than nothing. I managed to sell twenty policies up here.”

“That’s pretty good,” I said, anxious to be rid of him.

“I have the figures right here.” He gave me a statement and two ten-dollar bills. “That covers it I think.”

I glanced at the statement, nodded and put the bills in my pocket.

“Well, thanks,” I said.

“Have you seen the new Trojan radio and TV set they’re showing at the Acme Store in LA, Mr Regan? It’s certainly a dandy. I didn’t know if you would be interested in getting the agency for it up here.”

“I haven’t seen it yet,” I said. “I build most of my own sets, but I’ll certainly take a look at it.”

“What I like about it is the time clock on it. All you have to do is to set the clock and at the right time the set switches on your programme.”

I had to make an effort not to show my excitement. He had given me the solution to my problem. A time clock! With such a clock I could control the exact time the control unit was to come alive.

When Lawson had gone, I considered the plan now as a whole.

Unless I made some stupid slip, it was fool proof.

I had to be sure Doc Mallard would be the one to examine Delaney’s body after he was dead.

The local coroner, Joe Strickland, had worked with Doc now for twenty years. He was a meek little man, and he was scared of Doc. If Doc said Delaney’s death was accidental, Joe Strickland would say so too.

I was relying on the inefficiency of two old men — Doc Mallard and Sheriff Jefferson — to cover up murder, and in this particular setup in this particular little town, unless I made a really glaring mistake, I was confident I would get away with it.

I now had three clear days to perfect the plan.

I had to get a time-switch clock. All the dealers in Los Angeles knew me and they might remember I had bought this article. To be absolutely safe I would have to buy it in San Francisco where I wasn’t known.

The following day I drove into Los Angeles, and then took the train to San Francisco, arriving there late in the afternoon. I bought the clock. The clerk who served me practically threw it at me so anxious was he to get rid of me and the rest of the customers before closing time and I was sure he wouldn’t recognize me again.

I got back to my cabin late that night.

It was then, as I lay in bed, trying to sleep, that I suddenly wondered if I had gone out of my mind to plan such a thing, but when I thought of Gilda, I got my nerve back.

Soon after eleven o’clock the following morning, I called Delaney’s cabin.

As luck would have it, he answered the telephone himself.

“Regan here, Mr Delaney,” I said. “The set going okay?”

“Terrific.”

“I don’t know if you’ve seen the TV programme for Friday,” I said, coming to the real reason why I was calling him. “They are showing the Dempsey fight film.”

“They are? I didn’t see that. What time is it showing?”

“Nine forty-five Friday morning.”

“Well, thanks, Regan: I wouldn’t have missed that for anything.”

I said I thought he would want to see it and hung up.

For some moments I stood staring at the telephone. It had been horribly easy. I had no doubt that at around nine-forty Delaney would put his hand on the remote control unit to turn on his set and at that time the unit would be lethal.

Everything now depended on whether Gilda went to Glyn Camp in the morning. That was the one thing in my plan over which I had no control.

On the mountain road, a quarter of a mile from Blue Jay cabin there was a place where I could see the cabin far below and part of the road leading to Glyn Camp. I planned to go to this place around eight-thirty in the morning and wait there.

From this vantage point I could see Gilda leave. If by twenty-past nine she hadn’t left, I would drive fast to Blue Jay cabin and stop Delaney from touching the control unit. I could always cook up some excuse that I wanted to test the set and while doing so I could make the unit safe.

My next move was an easy one. I put a call through to Jeff Hamish, the writer, who had a de luxe cabin about a mile from me and about a mile and a half from Delaney’s place.

I knew Hamish was a fanatical collector of LP records and he had quite a library of them. I had picked on him to establish my alibi. He was a well-known writer and, as a witness, he would make a solid impression.

When I finally got on the telephone, I said, “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr Hamish, but I have a gadget here that’s just made for you. It’s an attachment that cleans a disc while it is playing. There’s a roller dipped in a solution that keeps just ahead of the stylus and really does its job. It’s just the thing for you.”

“Sounds wonderful. Let’s have a look at it.”

“I’m passing your way tomorrow morning. Okay if I look in around half-past nine?”

“Sure, and thanks for remembering me,” and he hung up.

That was going to be my alibi.

Delaney would die at nine forty-five. At that time I would be demonstrating this gadget at Hamish’s place, a mile and a half from Blue Jay cabin around half-past nine and ten. It was an unassailable alibi.

That was Wednesday.

On Thursday night I had the trickiest and most dangerous part of the plan to do.

A little after half-past nine, with my tool box and the time-switch clock, I started off on foot for Delaney’s place.

I didn’t dare risk taking the truck in case someone saw me and remembered I was heading that way at that hour.

I had a twenty-five-minute walk. I kept off the road and cut across the scrub land. There was a moon, but the night was pretty dark and I was confident no one would spot me if they happened to be on the road.

I reached the gate leading up to Delaney’s cabin at ten minutes to ten.

Moving silently, I walked up the rough road until I came within sight of the cabin.

The light was on in the lounge and I could hear music from the TV.

I made a wide detour through the overgrown garden and came up at the back of the cabin.

I climbed the steps onto the verandah, moved to the back door and gently turned the handle. The door swung inwards, and I stepped into the kitchen.

The door was open, and the light from the hall was enough for me to see where I was going. I moved silently to the door and looked into the dimly-lit passage.

The strident sound of jazz was coming from the TV set. Delaney had the volume well up so I had no fear of him hearing me. I went to the storeroom and eased open the door.

I had a flashlight with me and I turned the beam into the dark little room. I moved in and gently closed the door.

Well, I was in. I had a long wait ahead of me.

I cleared a space by the door so that, if Gilda happened to look in, I could hide behind the door. Then I lowered myself to the floor and rested my back against the wall.

The tension and the hell of waiting began.

It was just after half-past ten when I heard the TV set turn off. I got to my feet, and moving against the wall, I listened, my heart thumping.

I heard the sound of a door shutting.

The partition of the storeroom was thin and sounds came clearly to me.

I heard Delaney say, “Are you going to bed?”

Gilda said, “Yes, as soon as I have locked up.”

Then I heard the bolts of the front door being pushed to, and a moment later, I heard her come down the passage and go into the kitchen. I heard her lock the back door and shut the window.

I waited, holding my breath, wondering if she would come into the storeroom, but she didn’t.