James Chase - Shock Treatment

I heard from my police escort that the DA called Harmas after I had gone and took him through the story of the experiment.

It was on this business of taking the back off the set that the case against Gilda rested, and the DA hammered it home.

Around four o’clock I was called into the courtroom. There was an atmosphere in the room you could lean against.

The fat, important looking man who had been in the witness room was on the stand. He told Hunt that his name was Henry Studdley, and he was a specialist in the diseases of the spine. He said Delaney had been his patient.

He explained that there was nothing unusual about Delaney’s disability. His spine had been injured resulting in total paralysis from the waist down. Hundreds of people had been disabled in car accidents as Delaney had been disabled.

“Much has been made by the District Attorney,” Hunt said, “of the fact that Delaney could not have reached the two lower screws on the set. It is on this point that my client is being tried. I want to get this clear, doctor. Tell me, in your opinion, would it have been possible for Delaney, seated in his chair, to have removed those two bottom screws?”

“It would have been quite impossible for him to have reached the screws,” Studdley said emphatically.

This caused a major sensation, and the DA, thinking that Hunt had walked into a trap of his own making, was scarcely able to suppress a guffaw.

Hunt seemed quite unperturbed. He thanked Studdley, and asked him to step down, but not to leave the courtroom. Then he turned to the jury.

He said he was satisfied that Delaney had committed suicide.

Delaney was a drunkard and unstable. He and his wife had quarrelled the night before he died. He had assaulted her. Although she had put up with his evil temper and his drinking habits for the past four years, loyally doing her duty as his wife, this was the final straw. She decided to leave him. Delaney knew his money was exhausted. When he was on his own, realizing he now had no wife nor money, he decided to kill himself. He knew that if he arranged things to look as if he had died accidentally his wife would come in for the insurance money, and she would be able to clear his debts. That was what he had done.

I could see the jury wasn’t impressed by this theory. The DA’s constant reminder that Delaney couldn’t have taken off the back of the TV set made Hunt’s suggestion a waste of time.

“I am in the position to demonstrate to you how Delaney got hold of the screwdriver and how he did in fact take off the back of the set,” Hunt went on. “I would like to put Dr Studdley on the stand again.”

While Studdley walked to the stand, I saw the jury were showing interest and the DA was scowling at Hunt.

“Three days ago, doctor,” Hunt said to Studdley, “I telephoned you and asked you to arrange something for me. Would you tell the court what it was I asked you to do?”

“You asked me to find a patient who had the exact symptoms that Delaney had,” Studdley said.

“And did you find such a patient?”

“Certainly. It wasn’t difficult. I have at least six patients under my care who have exactly the same symptoms as Delaney had.”

Hunt turned to the judge and asked permission for the patient to take part in a demonstration.

The DA got to his feet, roaring objections.

There was a legal huddle between the judge, Hunt and the DA. Finally, it was decided that the DA should have the opportunity of examining the case papers of Delaney and the patient from Studdley’s clinic and to call his own medical expert to watch the demonstration which was to be held at Blue Jay cabin.

On that note the court adjourned for the day.

The following morning there was a big gathering in the lounge of Blue Jay cabin. Besides the judge and jury, there were the two medical experts, Boos, Maddox, Hunt, the DA and myself.

Seated in Delaney’s wheel chair was a thin, delicate looking man whose name was Holman.

Hunt asked him to go to the storeroom and see if he could get a screwdriver from the toolbox.

Holman trundled himself down the passage, followed by the jury and anyone else who could squeeze into the crowded passage.

As a witness for the prosecution, I got a front row view.

We all watched Holman manoeuvre the chair into the storeroom and hook the stick over the side of the toolbox. He took a little time judging the distance and moved the chair slightly closer to the shelf. Then he tipped the box over.

The box fell slap in his lap. Several of the tools spilled out onto the floor, but both screwdrivers remained in his lap.

“You see,” Hunt said mildly. “It was really very simple. The screwdriver never reached the floor.”

He got Holman to do the trick five times, and each time the screwdrivers dropped into Holman’s lap.

I could see the DA was looking uneasy by now and the jury were glancing at each other significantly.

“Now we’ll see about taking the back off the set,” Hunt said. “Let’s return to the lounge.”

We all followed Holman as he trundled the chair along the passage.

Hunt said to him, “See if you can reach those two screws, Mr Holman.”

Holman wheeled the chair up to the set.

“It can’t be done,” he said as he put out his arm. He was at least eighteen inches from the screws.

“Okay,” Hunt said quietly. “Now I want you to imagine you are a desperate man and no matter how much it hurts, no matter how great the effort, it is essential for you to get at those two screws. I want you to imagine that, after you have taken the screws out, then you are going to commit suicide.”

A glass of water was put on an occasional table by Holman’s side.

“Now go ahead,” Hunt said. “Try to get at those screws.”

There was a sudden tension in the room that you could feel. Sweat trickled down my face as I leaned forward, my eyes, like everyone’s eyes, glued on the man in Delaney’s chair.

Holman manoeuvred his chair close to the TV set. Then he put his hands on the arms of the chair and raised his helpless body a few inches off the seat of the chair. He remained like that for several seconds. He then dipped his head forward and at the same time gave the chair a little push back. The chair slid away from him as he let go of the arms.

Before anyone could move, he had pitched forward, coming to the floor with a sickening crash.

A police officer started forward, but Hunt stopped him.

The fall had obviously badly shaken Holman, who lay motionless, face down before the TV set.

Hunt went to him and squatted down beside him.

“Are you all right, Mr Holman?” he asked, an anxious note in his voice.

“Yes, I’m all right.”

The thin, shaky voice was a whisper in the room.

Then the paralysed man began to move slightly. He pushed himself over on his side. By him was the screwdriver. He picked it up, then undid the two fixing screws and pulled off the back of the set. From where he lay he had no trouble in reaching the two screws.

While everyone in the room watched him in tense and utter silence, he rolled onto his other side, reached out and picked up the glass of water. He drank a little of the water, then dropped the glass as he sank face down on the floor.

“Hold it!” Hunt said. He looked around the lounge until he spotted me. “Mr Regan! Come here, please.”

I joined him beside Holman’s motionless body.

“Look at this man. Was that how you found Delaney? Look at him carefully. Was that how you found him?”

“Yes,” I said. “That was just the way he was lying.”

And that was the turning point of the trial.

Back in the courtroom that afternoon, the DA put up a fight, but he knew he was licked. Hunt had created too much doubt in the minds of the jury. His closing speech was powerful and stirring. He said that no man nor woman with any sense of responsibility could convict Gilda on such flimsy evidence and he demanded an immediate acquittal.