James Chase - Shock Treatment

She frowned at me.

“I just can’t understand it. He wasn’t clever with his hands. He never has been. He never touched anything that needed repairing. He would never have thought for one moment of trying to repair the set.”

This was something I hadn’t bargained for. If she came out with this information at the inquest, the Coroner might get suspicious.

“He wanted to see this film, Gilda. He was mad keen to see it.”

“How do you know he wanted to see the film?” she asked sharply.

For a moment my mind floundered, then I said, “A couple of days ago, he called me. He wanted to know how to adjust the set. I told him about the film. He said he wouldn’t miss seeing it for anything. You know how fanatical he was about a fight. I’m sure when he found he couldn’t get the commentary, he took the back off the set and, in trying to fix the lead, he killed himself.”

There was a look of complete unbelief in her eyes as she shrugged her shoulders wearily and asked, “Did you say there was a screwdriver by his side?”

I began to sweat. I remembered with a real stab of fear that the toolbox had been on the top shelf in the storeroom, and this shelf had been a good seven feet from the ground. I had had to stretch up to get it. I realized now that Delaney, unable to move from his chair, could never have got near it. This was a slip, and a bad one.

“That’s right,” I said.

“But he didn’t know where the toolbox was kept. He never used tools.”

By now I had managed to get my second wind and I had fought down my rising panic.

“Gilda, don’t try to make a mystery of this! The set broke down. He wanted to repair it. He hunted for the toolbox and he found it. He even hooked the box down with a stick. I found the box on the floor. You’re trying to make this thing complicated. It happens every month. You have only to read the papers to see that people kill themselves because they are stupid enough to fool with the works of a radio or TV set. Anyone without knowledge of how a set works can kill himself...” My voice trailed off when I saw she wasn’t listening, and then I really began to get scared. What was she thinking? Did she suspect I had killed him?

“But it’s not as easy as that,” she said, her voice shaking. “We had this horrible, sordid quarrel. I told him I was leaving him. He never thought I would do such a thing. He was desperate and upset. He begged me to stay, but I couldn’t; not after what he had tried to do to me. I am sure he wouldn’t have wanted to see this fight film, not immediately after I had walked out on him. I feel sure he deliberately killed himself.”

“You’re wrong! No one could kill himself like that,” I said.

This was getting dangerous. If I couldn’t convince her and she told the Coroner she suspected Delaney had committed suicide, and it got into the papers, the Los Angeles police were certain to investigate. Suicide by electrocuting oneself by a TV set was more than suspicious. “He had been drinking. I found whisky and a glass by him. Okay, he was desperate and upset as you say. He turned the set on to take his mind off you. Finding it didn’t work, he got into a rage and got hold of this screwdriver and shoved it into the works. It’s just the sort of thing an unhappy, drunken man might do.”

She lifted her shoulders helplessly.

“I can’t believe he would do such a thing.”

“It’s got to be an accident, Gilda!” I said, my voice rising. “If you tell the Coroner you think he killed himself, the newspapers will get it, and then you and I will be in the middle of a scandal, and that could ruin our lives.”

“Well, all right, Terry.” She suddenly seemed to relax as if the whole thing was now too much for her. “It makes no sense to me, but I don’t suppose it matters. It’s so hard to believe he really is dead and at last I am free.”

I began to breathe more easily.

“We haven’t much time, Gilda,” I said. “We have to be careful. What I am going to say to you now may sound a little crazy, but it’s really sound common sense. There could be an investigation. It’s absolutely essential that no one knows that you and I have been lovers. If ever that gets out, we’ll be in bad trouble. If they don’t think he died accidentally, the Los Angeles police might poke their noses in, and they might want to know where you were when he died. You can see it would be fatal to tell them you were at my place. You must tell them you left him at the usual time to go to Glyn Camp at nine o’clock. You drove down to Glyn Camp by the lake road. On the way down you had a blow-out. It took you a long time to change the tyre. You had never done it before, and on that lonely road there was no one to help you. You didn’t reach Glyn Camp until just after half-past eleven.”

I saw her stiffen and she stared uneasily at me.

“But I can’t say that — it’s not true!”

“You don’t have to tell them anything unless they ask you, Gilda,” I said, trying to keep my voice under control. “But if they do ask you, that’s the story you have got to tell them, and I mean that! If you don’t, both of us could be in serious trouble. I’m going to fix your spare tyre so if they check they’ll see you did have a flat.”

“Terry!” She turned and gripped my arm, staring at me, her eyes a little wild. “You’re frightening me! You make it sound as if I’ve done something wrong!”

“Not only you, but me as well! We have done something wrong! We have been lovers, Gilda! Don’t you realize people have sympathy for a cripple? If it ever got out that we were lovers before he died, do you think they would have any sympathy for us? We would get smeared across the front pages of all the local papers. I’m trying to protect you, Gilda! You must do what I say!”

She lifted her shoulders.

“Well, all right,” she said. “I can’t think properly now, but I’ll do what you say, Terry.”

I got out of the Buick, went around to the trunk, opened it and checked the spare tyre. It had been used and the tread was worn.

I went to my truck, got a nail from my tool kit and a hammer and returning to the Buick I drove the nail deep into the spare tyre. The air began to hiss out and I shut the trunk, tossed the hammer back in my toolbox and then came over to Gilda.

“You’d better get back now,” I said. “You understand what you have to say if they ask you?”

“Yes, of course, Terry, but I don’t like it. It frightens me. Are you sure I must lie about this thing?”

“Gilda, please! I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t sure you had to do it. Now one more thing: from now on until the inquest, we must be careful to keep away from each other. After the inquest, you had better go to Los Angeles. Get a room there. I’ll be able to see you there. Then in a couple of months or so, we’ll get married. We’ll leave this district. You’ll have his money, and we can have our shop.” I put my hand on hers. “You’re free now. In a little while we’ll be together.”

“Yes.”

We heard a car coming down the road, and a moment later, the ambulance went past, heading towards Glyn Camp.

We looked at each other. Gilda had turned white. I felt bad myself. We both knew what was in the ambulance.

“Go on up there, Gilda,” I said. “Jefferson is waiting for you. Don’t worry. Once the inquest is over we’ll be together for always.”

At that moment I really believed that, but always is a long time.

I didn’t get back to my cabin until late in the afternoon.

I sat on the verandah, a glass of whisky in my hand, and thought about what had happened since I had left the cabin at eight-thirty this morning.