James Chase - Shock Treatment

I moved forward, and then stopped abruptly.

Delaney was lying on the floor, his hands hiding his face. No one could lie like that unless he was dead. There was a horrible rigidness about him that told me he must be dead.

I stood in the doorway, looking down at him, and I felt scared and sick.

I had done this thing. I had killed him.

Slowly, I moved into the lounge. I realized the danger I was now in. If I made one slip, I too would die. I had to go through with my plan. I was certain it was fool proof. All I had to do was to carry it out step by step and I must be safe.

Moving around his rigid body, I turned off the main’s switch, then I disconnected the plug from the mains to the set.

I bent over him and put my fingers on the back of his neck. I had to force myself to do it, but I had to be absolutely sure he was dead. The touch of his cold skin against my hot fingers told me as nothing else could that he was dead, and he had been dead some little time.

Crossing to the door, leading onto the verandah, I shut it, then I went back to the TV set, unscrewed the fastening screws and removed the back of the set.

I stripped out the time-switch clock and the wires from the remote control unit and reconnected them in their correct position.

I worked fast, and the whole job took under five minutes. Then I took the clock out to my truck and hid it under the driving seat. I got a length of flex and, returning to the lounge, I replaced the mains lead that I had cut the previous night.

I went out of the room and to the storeroom and hunted around until I found a tool box. This was on the top shelf, and I nearly missed it. In it I found two screwdrivers: one insulated and the other all steel. I took the all steel one and returned to the lounge. I placed the screwdriver on the floor close to Delaney’s right hand.

Then I worked on the remote control unit. I put back the insulated rubber caps and the rubber back.

I then turned the TV set so that its open back faced Delaney’s body.

I stood back and surveyed the scene.

It looked convincing enough to me except for an empty glass, lying on the carpet near Delaney. This seemed out of place. I guessed he had been drinking when he had died.

I picked up the glass. I didn’t want any confusion at the inquest. It had to be kept as simple as possible. If Joe Strickland suspected that Delaney was a drunk, he might probe deeper than I wanted him to.

I took the glass into the kitchen, washed it and dried it, taking care I held it in the cloth so I wouldn’t leave any fingerprints on it. I put the glass in the kitchen cupboard.

I returned to the lounge. All this had taken under ten minutes. It was time to call Sheriff Jefferson.

Before I picked up the receiver, I took one more look at the scene.

It looked convincing.

Delaney lay before the set, its back off and facing him, the screwdriver lay near his hand. Anyone coming on the scene who had no reason to doubt the setup would naturally come to the conclusion that he had been electrocuted while trying to find a fault in his set.

It had often happened before. From time to time there appeared in the newspapers an account of some handyman who had tried to repair his set with the current on and had killed himself.

As I reached for the telephone, I suddenly realized that there was nothing wrong with the set! That discovery turned me cold. I had very nearly made a fatal slip. There had to be something wrong with it, otherwise why should Delaney have tried to repair it? If there was an investigation, the police would immediately become suspicious if they turned the set on and found it working properly.

I went over to the set, took from my toolbox an insulated screwdriver, turned the set on and then put the blade of the screwdriver across two terminals. There was an immediate flash from the set and a bang, blowing half the valves, and a wisp of smoke came from the set.

I disconnected the set, then I ripped loose the lead to the sound control and left it dangling. That fixed it. I went back to the telephone and called Sheriff Jefferson.

He answered at once.

“Sheriff?” I didn’t have to try to make my voice sound urgent. By now the shock was hitting me and I felt and sounded bad. “This is Terry Regan. Will you come out to Blue Jay cabin right away? There’s been an accident. Delaney’s dead.”

“Okay, son.” His voice was quiet and calm. “I’ll be right out.”

“Bring Doc with you.”

“He’s here. We’re coming,” and he hung up.

It would take him in his old Ford the best part of half an hour to get out here.

I had a moment’s breathing space and my mind went to Gilda, waiting for me in my cabin.

It was then I realized that she now had no alibi! If anything went wrong, and the police investigated, suspecting murder, they would want to know where she had been between the time he died and the time she returned to the cabin. They would immediately suspect there was something between us, and that would give them the motive for the murder. I sat before the telephone, my heart thumping while my brain seized up with panic. She had been waiting at my cabin now for an hour and a half.

I would have to manufacture an alibi for her, but first I had to get her down to Glyn Camp.

I called my number. After a moment’s delay, Gilda answered.

“Gilda?” I said. “Will you please do exactly what I tell you without asking questions? This is urgent and important.”

“Why, yes, of course, Terry. Is there something wrong?”

“I want you to go down to Glyn Camp right away. Don’t go by the main road; go by the lake road.” I didn’t want her to run into Jefferson on his way up. “When you get there, do your weekend shopping as usual. Don’t start back until half-past twelve. Will you do that?”

“But why, Terry? I’ve no shopping to do. I’m going to Los Angeles this afternoon...”

“Gilda! Please! This is important! Something has happened! You’ve got to do what I tell you and don’t ask questions! Please do exactly what I’ve said! I’ll meet you at a quarter to one at the cross roads on your way back and I’ll explain everything. Have you your baggage with you?”

“Yes.”

“Keep it out of sight. Put it in the trunk of the car. No one must know you have left him. Will you go at once to Glyn Camp? I’ll explain everything when we meet.”

“Well, all right, but I don’t understand.”

“I’ll see you at the cross roads at a quarter to one,” I said and hung up.

I went out onto the verandah and sat down. My nerves were crawling. I sat there for twenty minutes, smoking, and trying to keep my mind empty.

It was a relief when I heard the Sheriff’s car come roaring up the road. Two minutes later, the battered old car pulled up outside the cabin.

Jefferson and Doc Mallard came up the steps.

“Is Mrs Delaney here?” Jefferson asked.

“No. She must be shopping in Glyn Camp. It’s her day for shopping.”

“Is he dead?”

“I think so. Doc’ll be able to tell us.” This was deliberate. I had now to make Doc Mallard the leading actor in this scene. “He’s in here, Doc.”

Doc Mallard looked like an old, weary stork as he came up the steps. He was wearing a gallon hat at the back of his head, a black gambler’s frock coat and black trousers, the ends of which were thrust into a pair of Mexican riding boots.

“Hello, son,” he said to me. “So we have a body on our hands, huh? Well, it isn’t the first, and I dare say it won’t be the last. Where is he?”

“In here, Doc,” I said and led the way into the lounge. “I found him just as he is. It looks as if he was poking around in the set, touched something and got the full shock through him. He must have been pretty careless. The screwdriver he was using wasn’t insulated. I found it by his hand.”