James Chase - Shock Treatment

As she set the parking brake, I looked back down the long, twisting road, but there was no sign of any car coming up, only the gleam of many headlights far below as the traffic pounded out of Los Angeles.

Gilda turned in the driving seat and looked directly at me.

“Why are you so frightened, Terry?”

“I’m not frightened,” I said carefully. “I’m anxious. This insurance claim was a mistake. The agent of the company has examined the set. He seems to think there is something suspicious about the claim.”

“Why should he think that?”

“Some business about it being difficult for your husband to have taken the back off the set. It doesn’t seem he could have reached the bottom fixing screws from his chair.”

“I told you: I am quite sure he didn’t take the tack off the set. It was something he would never do. It was you who said he did it.”

“Of course he took it off! When I got there, the back was off...”

“I think the best thing I can do,” she said, not looking at me, “is to tell Mr Macklin to withdraw the claim. I can manage without the money. I’ll sell everything. There should be just enough to settle his bills.”

I stiffened.

“You mustn’t withdraw the claim now!”

“Why not?”

“Once a claim is lodged, it has to go through, otherwise the insurance company will suspect fraud. They’ll think you have withdrawn the claim because you have lost your nerve. If you withdraw the claim now, they are certain to tell the Los Angeles police.”

“Why should I care if they tell the police? I’ve got nothing to hide!”

“But you have! They could find out about us!”

“And what if they do?”

I drew in a long, slow breath. I thrust my fists between my knees, squeezing them hard.

“We’ve been over all that before, Gilda. We have got to be careful.”

“Is that why you asked me to call you from a pay booth?”

“Yes. I don’t trust these insurance agents. They may have tapped your line.”

She swung around and stared at me, her eyes glittering.

“Tell me the truth!”

“What do you mean?”

“It wasn’t an accident, was it? You’ve been trying to cover up something. You’ve got to tell me!”

I started to say it was an accident, then I stopped. All of a sudden, I felt I couldn’t lie to her. I loved her. You can’t lie to a woman who means as much as Gilda meant to me. I knew it was a fatal thing to do, but I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer.

“No, Gilda: it wasn’t an accident.” I began to shake. “I killed him.”

She caught her breath in a quick gasp and moved away from me.

“You killed him?”

“I must have been out of my mind,” I said. “I couldn’t bear the thought of you being tied to him for the rest of his days. I couldn’t bear the thought of you never being mine so long as he was alive — so I killed him.”

She sat motionless. I could hear her quick, uneven breathing.

“I did it because I love you, Gilda,” I said. “With any luck, they won’t find out I’m hoping in a few months we can go away and start a new life together.”

She hunched her shoulders as if she were feeling cold.

“How did you do it?”

I told her.

I didn’t hold anything back. I told her the whole sordid tale.

She sat in the corner of the car, her hands in her lap, motionless, staring out into the moonlit night, her big forget-me-not blue eyes wide and expressionless.

“If only that insurance claim hadn’t been put in,” I said, “I would have had nothing to worry about. But now... I don’t know. I think Harmas suspects something. That’s why we mustn’t see each other until the claim is settled.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Her voice was flat and cold.

“I want you to stick to the story you told Jefferson,” I said. “That’s all I want you to do. Harmas may question you. If he gets the slightest suspicion that we have been lovers, we shall be in trouble. We must keep away from each other until they have settled the claim.”

“You mean you will be in trouble, don’t you? If I tell them the truth, there is no trouble for me.”

She was right, of course, but I just looked at her, not saying anything.

“All right: I’ll lie for you. I’ll stick to the story.” She sat for several seconds staring through the windshield. Then she said quietly, “Would you mind walking back? You’ll be able to get a lift on the highway. I would rather go back alone.”

My heart gave a little lurch.

“This is not going to make any difference to your feelings for me, Gilda? I love you. I need you now more than ever before.”

“This has been a shock. Will you leave me now please?”

I tried to take her hand, but she moved it quickly out of my reach.

I could see how white she was and how tense. I realized she had to be given time to get over what I had told her. Already I was bitterly regretting having told her.

I got out of the car.

“I wouldn’t have done it, Gilda, only I love you so much.”

“Yes, I understand.”

The car began to move away from me. She was staring through the windshield. She didn’t look at me.

I watched the red rear lights of the car go down the steep hill. I had a sudden horrible feeling she was moving away out of my life: moving out of it for good and all.

Two days crawled by, and they were bad days for me.

I kept thinking of Gilda, seeing again the wooden stunned expression on her face as she had driven away and wondering why she hadn’t wanted me with her.

I tried to assure myself it was a natural reaction. I had confessed that I had murdered her husband. The shock must have been a horrible one. What really bothered me now was that this stupid confession might have killed her love for me. That was something I couldn’t bear to think of, for her love was more precious to me than my own life.

On the second night I could stand my thoughts no longer. I got into the truck and drove down to Los Angeles. I called her number from a pay booth.

I was startled when a man answered.

“Is Mrs Delaney there?” I asked, wondering, with a feeling of dread, if this man was a police officer.

“Mrs Delaney left a couple of days ago,” the man said. “I’m sorry but she didn’t give us a forwarding address.”

I thanked him and hung up.

I didn’t need a blueprint to tell me what had happened. My stupid confession had killed her love for me as I had feared it might. She had gone away because she didn’t want to see me again — ever.

I scarcely slept that night, and for the first time, I regretted killing Delaney. I was paying for what I had done, and from the look of my future, I would go on paying for it.

The following morning, as I was shaving, the telephone bell rang.

It was Harmas calling.

“Can you meet me at Blue Jay cabin at eleven?” he asked. “We’re having a meeting, and I want you in on the technical end.”

I said I would be there.

“Swell, and thanks,” and he hung up.

The next three hours were bad ones. My nerves got so shaky I had a drink around half-past nine, and that led to three more drinks before I drove over to Blue Jay cabin.

Harmas’s Packard was parked near the verandah steps, and as I walked up them, I could hear him whistling in the lounge.

He looked around as I paused in the doorway.

“Come on in. The others will be along any time now.”

I walked stiff-legged into the lounge.

“What’s it all about?” I asked.

“You’re going to see how we insurance dicks earn our money,” Harmas said. He had dropped his indolent pose. He looked alert, and his wide, satisfied smile scared me. “I want you to give me a hand.” He took two ten-dollar bills from his wallet and handed them to me. “You’d better freeze onto these in advance in case I forget. My boss — this guy Maddox I was telling you about — is coming, and when he’s around I’m likely to forget my own name.”