Simon Brett - A Shock to the System

Robert Benham had, unwittingly, given him another vital component. The trip to Brussels, designed to frustrate Graham’s progress at work, was going to prove an important boost to his other career. It would provide what is essential to any serious murderer, an alibi.

Graham also realised, his mind working gleefully well, that the trip could be used to increase Merrily’s suspicions of his fidelity.

He had mentioned Brussels to her once or twice, but now if she brought up the subject he veered guiltily off it, apparently unwilling to give details of the nature of the conference. He also made tactical purchases of new pyjamas and a different aftershave which he hid with minimum efficiency at the back of his shirt drawer.

Stella had to play her part, too, though she was unaware of it. Meeting her alone in the corridor one day, Graham said yes, he’d love her to cook supper for him one night. She responded eagerly, suggesting the next evening. No, he didn’t think he could make that … or he might be able to. . He’d have to consult the diary at home. Could she ring him that evening to check? Merrily would be out till ten.

Merrily, who had made no arrangement to go out, took the call, as intended. Graham watched covertly as she reacted. Stella, taken off her guard, must have said something before she rang off, because it registered on Merrily’s face before she turned accusingly to Graham.

‘Wrong number, was it?’ he asked with innocence.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Merrily slowly.

He continued the campaign when he saw Stella at the office the next day. Yes, he’d gathered what had happened. Merrily had come home unexpectedly early. Yes, it had given him a nasty turn, too. Meant he’d have to tread a bit warily for a few days. So supper might be a risk. But how about a drink after work?

In fact, going to Stella’s flat for supper might have advanced his plan further, but Graham did not relish the inevitable sexual dimension. It was not that he felt any physical revulsion, just that sex seemed decreasingly relevant in his life. For the same reason, it was some weeks since he had made any physical approach to Merrily, a fact which, working like everything else in his favour, gave her more food for suspicion. He added to this by ringing his wife from the wine bar and saying he was having to work late. Then he went back to chatting with Stella. Again he kissed her as they parted. You never knew who might be watching. But he felt no sexual interest.

Even the pornography he bought raised no excitement. He was interested, particularly to see how candour and photographic techniques had advanced since such material had last been important to him, in his late teens, but the interest was dispassionate. His preoccupation with the murder gave him an ascetic sense of purpose, of all his concentration being focused on a higher goal.

The purchase of the pornography was perhaps an indulgence, gilding the lily, but he did need a lure for Merrily. She had been looking for letters, but he could not supply any, unless he resorted to forging them. She had, however, also mentioned pornography as evidence of masculine perfidy, so that would have to do.

He bought some half-dozen magazines for spankers, suckers and mammary fetishists. Deciding that to leave them in his sock drawer would be too slavishly imitative, he put them underneath some insurance brochures in the lock-up part of his desk (to which he was confident Merrily had a key).

The Brussels trip was not the only reason why he had to complete his preparations quickly. Another approaching deadline urged speed.

He did not get a chance to test the next part of his plan until the weekend before he went away. Showing a calculated softening in his attitude, Graham allowed his family the Saturday afternoon trip to the cinema which he had previously denied. He encouraged Merrily and Lilian (it was the long Easter weekend and his mother-in-law was going to be there for the duration) to accompany the children. He would stay and watch the sport on television. Merrily had looked suspicious of his altruism, which was no bad thing from Graham’s point of view, but agreed to go. Lilian said it was a great treat; no one ever asked her to go anywhere.

Over lunch, casually, he mentioned that he thought it was about time they had some new curtains in the spare room. Merrily said, yes, fine, she agreed but thought that they hadn’t got any money to have them made. Graham said he remembered how, when they moved into their first house in Barnes, she had made all of the curtains herself. Now they were hard up again. .

Merrily’s little face hardened. ‘Very well. Of course, Graham. I’m sure I can find time, along with everything else, to make some curtains. Mind you, Graham, you will have to fork out for the actual material, and the lining, and Rufflette tape. Or perhaps you’d like me to weave the stuff myself. . Perhaps we could organise the children to go into Richmond Park and collect dog hairs. Then we could spin them into yarn and. . What do you say?’

Graham didn’t rise to her. Awfulness from Merrily could now only add to his serenity. ‘No, I’m sure I can afford to buy the material. Is the sewing machine working?’

‘I imagine so. I haven’t used it since we moved, so it’s still where the removal men left it.’

‘Where’s that?’

‘In the loft.’

As he climbed the folding steps and slid aside the wooden covering to the loft entrance, an unpleasant thought struck him. Suppose the light up there had been added later, an extension in modern white plastic-coated flex taken off the antiquated wiring. .

The fear was quickly resolved. At the top of the steps, he pulled himself up on a pipe which led from the hot-water tank, and reached for the switch. The naked bulb threw instant light over the draped and dusty shapes under the rafters. And revealed that the light switch dated from the same time as the rest of the house’s electrical system.

He stood astride the opening and surveyed the scene of the crime. The pipe against which he steadied himself could have been designed to conduct electricity.

He looked closely at the switch. That too couldn’t have been better. It was the old brass type with a scalloped dome. The switch had a round metal end. Red and black rubber-covered wires emerged from the rose for about four inches before they disappeared into a metal tube fixed along a horizontal rafter. Gingerly he felt the thick, stiff wire through its coating and noted with satisfaction that the rubber already showed the crosshatched lines of perishing.

He hummed contentedly to himself as he went down to the cupboard under the stairs and switched off the power. Then he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves he had found in the kitchen; they were rather tight and squeezed his hands. He picked up a large rubber-cased torch and a pair of pliers and set off back upstairs.

He didn’t need the pliers. The old insulation crumbled off the wire like pastry. Soon the golden glow of the two wires showed in his torchbeam. He squeezed them gently together between finger and thumb.

Then he unscrewed the dome of the switch, fretted away at more of the insulation inside and bent one of the wires up out of its porcelain protection until it would touch against the metal cover when he replaced it.

He screwed the top back on. The brass gleamed too much where his rubber gloves had wiped off its accumulation of dust. He reached up to an overhead rafter, scraped some of the sooty sediment into his rubber-covered palm and gently blew it over the switch. The brass turned uniformly dull.

His hum became a jaunty whistle as he bounced down the stairs to the main switches. Then, with another stroke of serendipity, he remembered what Lilian had given him for Christmas. At the time his reaction had been that the gift was rather mean and totally useless, but at the time he had not visualised needing to test the mains.