Shock Treatment

by James Hadley Chase

  “It looks as if you’ll have to pay out on this one,” I said.

  He shrugged his shoulders.

  “You could be right. All the same, I can see it from Maddox’s angle. Suddenly we have a twenty-thousand to one chance dropped in our laps. That would be all right if the other circumstances are normal, but they aren’t. The policy is only five days old, and the guy who took it out is buried before the policy is even delivered, and he’s buried without a post mortem. Well, that would make even a mad insurance agent point like a gun dog. What it did to Maddox was nobody’s business.”

  “Putting it that way, it doesn’t sound all that on the level,” I said.

  Harmas laughed.

  “According to Maddox that would be one of the world’s great understatements. You should have heard him on the telephone. Boy! Did he burn up that wire!” He got to his feet and went over to the set. He opened the cabinet and peered at the tape recorder and the turntable.

  “Some set. You certainly know your business, Mr Regan.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You were the one who found the body?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Yeah. I read the coroner’s report. The sound control lead came adrift and Delaney tried to fix it and touched two terminals and that was that Check?”

  “That’s how it happened.”

  He squatted down on his heels and peered into the works of the set.

  “Which terminals did he touch?”

  I joined him and showed him the terminals.

  “He worked with an uninsulated screwdriver?”

  “Yes. I found it by his side.”

  Harmas straightened up.

  “He was paralysed from the waist down? That’s right, isn’t it? He went around in that wheel chair?” and he jerked his thumb to where the wheel chair stood.

  “Yes.”

  “Pretty rough on his wife. From what I hear, she’s quite a dish.” He made curves with his hands. “All the right things in — the right places.”

  I didn’t say anything, but I was very alert now.

  “You’ve met her?” he went on.

  “Yes.”

  “Would you say they got on well together?”

  “What’s that to do with this setup?” I couldn’t keep the irritation out of my voice. “I have a whale of a lot to do. Mrs Delaney asked me to show you the set. Well, you’ve seen it. I’ve got to get going.”

  He went back to the lounging chair and sank into it.

  “Take it easy,” he said. “I don’t expect you to waste your time listening to my hot air for nothing. You built this set and you found the guy and you know the background of the district. What do you say if we pay you ten bucks a day as a retainer for technical advice?”

  I hesitated, but I realized if I refused, he might get someone else. Whereas if I agreed, I’d be right in on the investigation and I could watch which way it was going.

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Ten bucks a day then.”

  He took out two tens, screwed them into a ball and flicked them into my lap.

  “Would you know if they got on well together?” he repeated.

  “As far as I know they got on all right,” I said, “but I didn’t see much of them together.”

  I wondered if he would ever find out that I had taken Gilda to the Italian restaurant. With any luck, he wouldn’t dig that deep.

  He stared at the TV set for a long moment, frowning, then he said, “Do me a favour. Put the back on the set.”

  “Why, sure.”

  I went over to the set and put the back on, fixing the screws and tightening them.

  Harmas watched me, frowning.

  “Would you sit in the wheelchair?”

  I stiffened, my heart beginning to thump.

  “What’s the idea?”

  “I’m a lazy cuss,” he said, grinning. “When I can pay a guy to do my work for me, I always reckon it’s money worth spent.”

  I went over to the wheelchair and sat in it. It gave me a creepy feeling, knowing Delaney had spent four years of his life in this chair.

  “Will you wheel yourself up to the set and take the back off, remaining in the chair the way Delaney would have had to remain in it?”

  It wasn’t until I had taken out the two top fixing screws that the nickel dropped.

  Seated as I was, I suddenly saw it was impossible for me to reach the two bottom screws!

  As I couldn’t reach these two screws, it followed that it would have been impossible for Delaney to have removed the back of the set.

  If he hadn’t removed the back of the set, he could not have electrocuted himself!

  Here was my fatal slip!

  My perfect murder plan had blown up in my face!

  II

  For a long, agonizing moment, I sat motionless, staring at the bottom screws. I knew Harmas was watching me. I realized he had been smart enough to have seen the screws were out of reach of anyone sitting in that big wheeled chair.

  I had to do something.

  I edged myself forward, and, by getting my feet off the footrest of the chair, onto the floor, I could just reach the screws by bending right forward. As I began to undo them, Harmas said sharply, “Hold it!”

  The note in his voice sent a chill crawling up my spine, but I had myself under control. I looked over my shoulder at him.

  He was on his feet and he was staring at the set.

  “This is interesting,” he said. “Delaney was paralysed from the waist down. He couldn’t have reached those two screws.”

  “Why not?”

  “Look at the way you’re sitting. A paralysed man couldn’t sit like that.”

  “He must have done,” I said, my voice was husky.

  I was cursing myself for being such a fool as to put the lower two fixing screws in such a position, and not realizing that Delaney couldn’t have reached them. When I had taken the back off the set I had squatted down in front of the set: the only practical way of getting at the screws.

  “Well, if he did take them out, he must have had arms like a gorilla,” Harmas said. “Here, let me have a try. Let me sit in the chair.”

  I got up and stood back and watched him sit in the chair and try to reach the screws. It was only when he was right on the edge of the chair, his feet off the foot rest and leaning well forward that he could get at them.

  He sat in the chair, brooding for some moments, then he said, “If I remember rightly, Delaney got the screwdriver from a storeroom somewhere. Do you know where the storeroom is?”

  “Down the passage: first door on the right.”

  “Let’s take a look.”

  Remaining in the chair, he propelled himself out of the lounge, down the passage to the storeroom door. He opened the door and manoeuvred himself and the chair inside.

  I stood watching him, thinking what a stupid fool I had been to imagine I had dreamed up the perfect murder plan!

  “Where’s the toolbox kept?”

  Up on the top shelf. Delaney hooked it down with a walking stick. I found the tools on the floor.”

  “Where’s the stick?”

  I gave him the stick with its hooked handle.

  He reached up, got the hook over the side of the toolbox and tipped the box off the shelf. It came down with a clatter, spilling the tools all over the floor.

  He leaned forward to pick up the screwdriver, but he wasn’t within reaching distance of it. The chair, with its high wheels, made it impossible for him to pick up the tool.

  He looked at me.

  “You know this guy must have had indiarubber arms.”

  I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. To cover up, I lit a cigarette. I waited for his next move.

  He got out of the chair and pushed it back into the lounge, humming gently under his breath.

  I followed him and I felt pretty bad.

  He sat down in one of the lounging chairs.

  “I’d like to get the scene fixed in my mi
nd,” he said. “You found him. When you walked into the room — what did you see?”

  “The chair was within a few feet of the TV set and he was lying face down on the floor in front of the set. There was this screwdriver by his hand.”

  “So he had fallen out of the chair onto the floor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I saw the back was off the set, and I realized he had electrocuted himself. I pulled the mains plug out and then examined him to see if there was anything I could do to help him, but he was dead.”

  “How did you know that?”

  “He was turning stiff and he was cold.”

  “You’re sure he was cold?”

  “Yes: that’s how I knew he was dead.”

  “Then what did you do?”

  “I called Sheriff Jefferson and he came out with Doc Mallard. Doc said Delaney had died around nine fifteen.”

  “He judged that from the rigor and the temperature of the body?”

  “I guess so!”

  “Okay.” He got to his feet. “I guess I’ve seen all I want here for the moment. Leave the set as it is, will you? I’ll want to take another look at it.” He walked over to the window and stared at the view. “It’s a damn funny thing, but Maddox never seems to be wrong. There’s something about this setup that doesn’t jell. You can see that for yourself. That guy, Maddox! Come the time when I prove him wrong!”

  I didn’t say anything. My heart was beating sluggishly, and I felt scared.

  “Well, I guess I’ll have to poke around a little.” He held out his hand. “I’ll be seeing you. Where can I contact you?”

  I gave him my telephone number and watched him write it down on the back of an envelope.

  I said, “You think there’s something wrong with the claim?”

  He grinned cheerfully at me.

  “You think about it. You know as much as I do. The guy was paralysed. He couldn’t have reached those screws. He couldn’t have picked up that screwdriver. He was stone cold when you found him, and yet he had been dead only for three hours on a hot day, after getting a boosted electric shock through him. He had taken out an insurance policy a few days before he died. By dying the way he did, his wife cashed in for five thousand bucks. Maybe it all happened the way it seems to have happened. I don’t know.” He tapped me gently on my chest. “We guys in the insurance racket are suspicious of anything that doesn’t jell. I’m going to dig around and see if I can find anything else that doesn’t jell. Then I’ll know if this claim is a phoney or not. Maybe I’m wasting my time, but ^ that’s what I’m getting paid for. Be seeing you,” and nodding, he walked down to his smart, sleek Packard.

  I watched him drive away, then slowly I walked back into the lounge.

  This was a bad start, I told myself, but it didn’t mean he could prove Delaney had been murdered. He would have to go a long way before he proved that. My plan hadn’t been one hundred per. cent foolproof, but at least, it hadn’t entirely come apart.

  I sat for some minutes, smoking and thinking.

  I saw that much depended on Harmas not finding out that Gilda and I were lovers. If he found that out, he would have the motive: the wife, the crippled husband, the lover and five thousand dollars of insurance money. It was the perfect setup for murder.

  I had to warn Gilda again to stick to the story I had given her: that she had gone down to Glyn Camp, that, on the way, she had had a flat, and she had been delayed while she had changed the tyre.

  I decided I would go down to Los Angeles and call her from a pay booth.

  I drove into Los Angeles soon after four o’clock. I went to a pay booth and rang her number, but there was no answer. I guessed she was out looking for a job. I hung around, killing time and I kept ringing the number. It wasn’t until nearly seven that I got an answer.

  I wasn’t taking any chances. For all I knew they might have already tapped her line.

  “Gilda: don’t mention my name,” I said. “Listen carefully, I’m calling from a pay booth. The number is 55781. I want you to go out to a pay booth and call this number. I’ll be waiting. It’s urgent.”

  “But why can’t we talk now?”

  “Not on your line. Please hurry. Have you the number?”

  “I have it.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” and I hung up.

  I waited in the pay booth, smoking and sweating in the stuffy atmosphere for ten minutes. Then the bell rang and I lifted the receiver.

  “Gilda?”

  “Yes. What is all this, Terry? What is happening?”

  “The insurance people are probing as I thought they would,” I said. “They don’t appear satisfied the way he died. We’ve got to be careful. I think they are watching you, Gilda. Now listen . . .”

  “Terry! What are you talking about? Why should I care if they are watching me? I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of! You’re keeping something from me! I’ve had that feeling ever since he died. I must know what it is!”

  “It’s just that we’ve got to be careful they don’t find out about us, Gilda . . . that’s all.”

  “I must see you, Terry!”

  “No! I have an idea they are watching you. If they see us together, it will be the give away. We can’t meet yet.”

  “I’m going to see you, Terry! I’m going to see you tonight!”

  “They may be watching you, Gilda,” I said. “If they see us together . . .”

  “Where are you now?”

  “The drugstore on Figuroa and Florence.”

  “Wait for me outside. I’ll be along in the Buick in about an hour’s time.”

  “But listen, Gilda . . .”

  “Oh, it’ll be all right,” she said impatiently. “I’ll make sure no one is following me,” and she hung up.

  It was a long wait.

  A little before half-past seven, I left the drugstore and stood in the shadows. It was dark now. I wanted to go home, but I had an idea that if I didn’t meet her now, she would come to my cabin and I knew that could be fatal.

  Ten minutes later, the Buick Estate Wagon edged to the kerb. I ran across, opened the door and slid in beside her. She forced the Buick back into the stream of traffic and drove on down the busy thoroughfare.

  Neither of us said anything.

  After a few moments, I looked back at the line of headlights behind us.

  “No one is following us,” Gilda said. “I made sure.”

  “They’re experts . . .”

  “No one is following us!”

  There was a curt snap to her voice I hadn’t heard before, and I looked quickly at her.

  In the lights of the passing street lamps, she looked pale and her expression set. She stared ahead, driving well, moving the big car through the gaps in the traffic, her foot touching the gas pedal every now and then to shoot us forward, ahead of the car in front of us.

  We drove like that for twenty minutes or so, then we were clear of Los Angeles and we were heading into the open country, along the fast highway.

  Still we said nothing.

  Another twenty minutes driving brought us to a side road. She pulled off the highway onto the road, accelerated, driving fast, climbing the steep hill, and then, in a few minutes, she pulled onto one of those laybys, constructed specially for courting couples or for tourists who wish to see Los Angeles from the heights.

  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 i
t 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?”

  T 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.”