“But, Terry . . .”
I cut the connection, then feverishly dialled Delaney’s number. My hands were slippery with sweat. I was in a hell of a state.
As I listened to the burr-burr-burr on the line I again looked at my watch.
Fifty seconds!
I sat there, the receiver against my ear, my breath fast and heavy, listening to the bell ringing and slowly realizing that I was too late.
I let the bell ring until the hands of my watch crawled to a quarter to ten; then, very slowly, I replaced the receiver and got to my feet.
By now Delaney was dead and I had killed him!
There had been no need for him to have died! Gilda had freed herself by walking out on him — just as simply as that!
Well, it was done now. I had to think of myself. Panic flickered in my mind.
I heard Hamish coming, and I made an effort and pulled myself together. I moved quickly to his radiogram and began to fix the gadget I had brought with me. He joined me.
“If that really works,” he said, “it’s just what I have been looking for.”
I spent the next twenty minutes explaining and demonstrating how the gadget worked. I was so het up I didn’t know what I was saying, but Hamish was interested enough in the demonstration not to notice anything was wrong.
“It’s first rate,” he said finally. “I’ll give you a cheque right away.”
As he went to his desk I suddenly remembered that Delaney hadn’t called Doris and that put me on a spot. I had to tell Hamish I was going down to Delaney’s place. I had to have a reason if it came to an investigation why I happened to be the first to find his body.
Maybe Doris had forgotten to call me, although I knew this was unlikely.
“Can I use your phone?”
“Help yourself,” Hamish said as he searched in his desk drawer for his cheque book.
I called Doris.
“Has anything come in?”
“There was a lady asking for you. I gave her Mr Hamish’s number, but no one else has called.”
My heart began to pound. Was it possible that Delaney hadn’t tried to turn the set on before the fight film began? Was it even possible he hadn’t yet touched the remote control unit and was still alive?
“Did Mr Delaney call?”
“No.”
“Okay, I’ll call you later,” I said and hung up.
I was in a jam now. If Delaney was already dead, I didn’t dare go to his cabin for the next hour. If he were alive, I must stop him touching the remote control unit.
I didn’t hesitate. Hamish had written the cheque and had got up to examine the gadget I had fixed to the turntable. I dialled Delaney’s number. After listening to the unanswered ringing for several seconds, I hung up.
He must be dead, I thought, and I felt really bad.
Fortunately for me, Hamish was trying out the gadget and wasn’t paying me any attention; otherwise he would have seen the state I was in.
He waved to the cheque lying on his desk.
“There you are, Regan. You’re some salesman. This is the very thing.”
“I thought of you as soon as I saw it,” I said, putting the cheque into my wallet. “I must get down to Mr Delaney’s place now. I’ve just built him about the best set I’ve ever built, and I want to make sure he is satisfied.”
“What have you given him?”
I explained the set.
I had to spin out time. I didn’t dare get to Blue Jay cabin before a quarter to eleven. By then Delaney would have been dead an hour, and that should be good enough for an alibi.
“What sort of fellow is Delaney?” Hamish asked, sitting on the edge of his desk. “I looked in on him about a week ago, but he didn’t seem to welcome me. Do you know his wife?”
“I’ve met her,” I said cautiously.
“Some girl!” Hamish said, admiration in his voice. “What a body she’s got! It can’t be a lot of fun for her to be tied to a cripple.”
“That’s a fact.” I glanced at my watch. It was twenty minutes to eleven. “Is that the right time?” I nodded to his desk clock.
“Could be a little slow. I’d say it was close on twenty to eleven.”
“I must get going.”
“Well, thanks, Regan. If you find anything else you think I could use, let me know.”
I drove down to Blue Jay cabin at a moderate speed. My nerves were screwed up and my hands were clamped on the steering wheel in a knuckle-white grip. I kept wondering what I was going to find when I walked into the cabin. Would he be alive?
There was just the chance he had been sitting on the verandah and hadn’t bothered to answer the telephone. There was just a chance he had forgotten the fight film was showing.
I did something I hadn’t done for as long as I could remember. I began to pray. I prayed that when I walked into the cabin, I would find him there — alive.
II
As I stopped the truck before the gate leading up to Blue Jay cabin, the mail van came up the road and pulled up beside me.
Hank Fletcher, the Glyn Camp postman, grinned cheerfully through the open van window and waved two letters at me.
“Going up to see Mr Delaney?” he said. “Will you save me the walk and take these letters?”
This was a stroke of luck. Here was another witness of the exact time I had arrived at Blue Jay cabin. I went over to him.
“Sure,” I said, taking the letters. I looked at my watch. “Have you the right time on you, Hank?”
“It’s five after eleven, and that’s dead right.”
He waved to me and drove away down the road.
I glanced at the two letters he had given me. They were both for Delaney. I crammed them into my hip pocket, then opened the gate and drove the truck through, got out, shut the gate, then drove up to the cabin.
I was now breathing like an old man with asthma and my heart was thumping.
Was Delaney dead? I kept asking myself. Had I killed him?
I got off the truck and stood looking at the silent, deserted verandah. He wasn’t there, and that looked bad. I walked slowly up the steps.
The door leading into the lounge stood open. I paused. Across the lounge I could see the screen of the TV set, like a white eye that glared at me.
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 ste
el. 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.”
Doc scratched the side of his jaw and eyed Delaney’s body.
“I’ve always said these TV sets are dangerous.” He looked over at Jefferson. “Didn’t I say that, Fred? Weren’t those my very words?”
“You sure did, Doc,” Jefferson said, leaning against the door post, his thumbs hooked in his gunbelt. “Is he dead?”
Doc bent and touched Delaney’s neck. As he bent, his old knees creaked.
“Sure is: as dead as a mackerel.”
“Can you say how long?”
“Three hours, could be longer, not less. Rigor’s well advanced. Here, son, give me a hand with him. Help me turn him over.”
I felt pretty bad as I turned the rigid body over on its back. Delaney’s face was blue-tinged and congested. His lips were off his teeth in a snarl of pain. He looked terrible.
“He’s been electrocuted,” Doc said. “No doubt about it. See that blue tinge: a sure sign.”
“Any sign of burning?” Jefferson asked.
Doc examined Delaney’s hands, then shook his head.
“Nope, but that doesn’t mean anything. His chair’s metal. He would have received an evenly distributed shock. Well . . .” He straightened and pushed his hat further to the back of his head. “You won’t be wanting a p.m., Fred?” There was a slightly anxious note in his voice. I had been counting on this. I had been sure Doc wouldn’t feel capable of holding a post mortem.
“If you’re satisfied, Doc, I am,” Jefferson said, pulling at his moustache. “No point in cutting the poor fellow about.”
He walked over to the TV set and stared at it.
“How could it have happened, son?” he asked me.
“If you poke about in a TV set with a steel screwdriver,” I said, “you’re asking for trouble. You have only to touch something that’s alive and you get it.”
“Was there something wrong with the set?”
“There’s a loose lead here,” and I pointed to the lead I had ripped loose.
Both Jefferson and Doc peered short-sightedly into the set.
“How did it get loose, do you reckon?” Jefferson asked.
“It was a bad soldering job. Delaney was in a hurry to get the set and I had to work under pressure. He wanted to see the Dempsey fight film. I guess when he turned the set on, he found he couldn’t get the sound. He probably thought he could fix it himself without bothering me, and this is the result.”
“He didn’t call you, son?”
“No.”
“What made you come out here then?”
There was no suspicion in the old man’s eyes. It was just a routine question.
“I hadn’t been near to check the set since I delivered it,” I said. T happened to be at Mr Hamish’s place, and as I was passing, I thought I’d look in to see if he was satisfied, and I found him.”
“Must have given you a shock.” Jefferson moved over to look at Delaney. “I’ll call the ambulance. We’d better get him out of here before Mrs Delaney gets back.”
“If you don’t want me, Sheriff, suppose I go down to Glyn Camp and break the news to her?” I said.
“You do that, son. It’s going to be a bad shock for her. Keep her away until the ambulance has gone. Tell her I’ll be here for a while. I’d like to have a word with her. Tell her there’s nothing to worry about, but there’ll have to be an inquest.”
I left them: two slightly fuddled old men, happy enough to accept the setup as I had arranged it.
This lack of suspicion, this readiness to accept everything at its face value was what I had been relying on.
As I drove down to meet Gilda, I felt confident that, unless I had made a bad slip somewhere which would be discovered later, and I felt sure I hadn’t, I was going to get away with murder.
III
I found Gilda waiting for me at the cross roads. She was sitting in the Buick, which she had pulled off the road onto the grass verge. Her face was pale and tense as I stopped the truck and went over to her.
Shock Treatment Page 6