And because I had Delaney’s death on my conscience, I was frightened.
II
The inquest was held in the Glyn Camp recreation hall. There were only a dozen or so people sitting on the public benches, and they had drifted in because they had nothing better to do. Delaney hadn’t been known in Glyn Camp and there was no interest in his death.
I walked into the hall at five minutes to eleven. A minute later, Gilda came in. With her was a well-dressed, youngish man I had never seen before.
She came over to me and introduced the man to me. He was George Macklin, Delaney’s attorney, who had come up from Los Angeles.
Macklin was around thirty-eight: a short, compact man with a lean, alert face and shrewd dark eyes.
As he shook hands with me, he said, “This shouldn’t take long. I’ve talked to the Coroner. He’s not going to call Mrs Delaney.”
This was good news. I had been scared that Stringer might have questioned Gilda, and she might have given something away.
At eleven o’clock, Sheriff Jefferson and Doc Mallard came in. They shook hands with Gilda, nodded to Macklin and to me and sat down.
Joe Stringer, the Coroner, came in and sat behind the table in the middle of the room.
Stringer was a fat little man, nudging seventy, full of importance and without much intelligence. He opened the proceedings, and then Sheriff Jefferson gave evidence of how he had found Delaney lying before die TV set, dead.
He told Stringer that he was satisfied that there was no suspicion of foul play and that Doc Mallard would confirm this. Stringer then called Doc Mallard.
Doc sat in the witness chair and enjoyed himself.
He said Delaney had died from a severe electric shock, and he was satisfied that the cause of death was an accident.
He pointed out that Delaney had been in an all-steel chair and had used an all-steel screwdriver. Under these circumstances, he went on, if the screwdriver came into contact with a live terminal or wire, the shock would be great enough to kill the healthiest man.
Joe chewed his pen, looked wise and made a few notes. He thanked Doc and then called me.
His first words to me told me I was three-quarters home.
“Would you tell us, Mr Regan, how the accident could have happened?”
Already he was talking of an accident. It now depended on what I said to tip the scales.
I went over to Stringer’s desk and drew him a plan of the set, explaining to him how the sound control lead had come adrift, and how it was possible to get a shock by poking an uninsulated screwdriver into the set, touching one terminal, and then another. I also explained how anxious Delaney had been to see the Dempsey fight film.
“It’s happening all the time, Mr Coroner,” I concluded. “People just don’t realize the danger when they fool around with a TV set when the current’s going through it. The fact that he was in an all-metal chair, and using a screwdriver that wasn’t insulated, didn’t give him a chance.”
The blueprint I had drawn clinched it. It was something Stringer could look at and understand. I could see he was convinced as he thanked me for making it so clear, and when I got back to my seat, he looked over at George Macklin and asked him if he wanted to say anything. Macklin said he didn’t, and that fixed it.
Stringer said he found Delaney had died through an unfortunate accident and he had no hesitation in recording a verdict of accidental death.
After he had gone through a long harangue about the dangers of ignorant people meddling with TV and radio sets, he left his table and came over to Gilda and offered her his condolences.
Sheriff Jefferson, Doc Mallard, Macklin and I followed Gilda out of the hall and we all paused outside in the hot sunshine.
“If there’s anything I can do, Mrs Delaney,” Jefferson said, “just let me know. I’ll be happy to do it.”
Gilda thanked him. She said Macklin would take care of everything.
Macklin told her he would be out at Blue Jay cabin the following afternoon, and he would let her know how the financial situation was by then. He shook hands with her and with me, and then he, Jefferson and Doc Mallard went off together.
That left Gilda and me alone.
I was feeling fine now. Fear had left me. It had come out just the way I had planned it to come out.
“We’re nearly through,” I said. “It went off better than I thought it would. Is there anything I can do? Anything I can take care of for you?”
“There’s the TV set, Terry. He — he never paid for it, did he? I wish you would take it away.”
“That’s okay,” I said. “I’ll come out and take it away the day after tomorrow. Nothing else?”
She shook her head.
“Mr Macklin will take care of everything.”
Neither of us looked at each other as we talked. I was aware that we were in the main street and I was nervous people might be curious about us.
“What do you plan to do now, Gilda?”
“I don’t know. It’s what you plan to do. You tell me.”
“We’ll have to keep away from each other for a month. I think you had better go to a hotel in Los Angeles. At the end of a month, I’ll have cleared up my business here, then I’ll join you. We’ll go somewhere — New York or somewhere, and make a fresh start. I’ll open this shop. When you are fixed up in Los Angeles, write to me. Don’t telephone.”
“Then I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”
“Yes. We’ll talk more then.”
I watched her walk over to where she had parked the Buick, then I started across the street to where I had left my truck. I hated her going back to the cabin on her own, but I knew I couldn’t afford to take any risks of starting gossip.
It was hot, and I took my handkerchief out to wipe my face and I felt some papers in my pocket. I pulled out the two letters Hank Fletcher had given me for Delaney and I stared blankly at them. I had forgotten about them.
Gilda was getting into the Buick. I ran over to her.
“I forgot to give you these letters,” I said. “They were delivered yesterday.”
She glanced at them, then pushed them into her bag.
“Thank you.”
We looked at each other. Those forget-me-not blue eyes were clouded and expressionless. They worried me a little.
I watched her drive away.
After all, a month wasn’t all that long to wait, and then a new and exciting life was ahead of us.
III
I went out to Blue Jay cabin, as I had promised, to collect the TV set.
As I got off the truck, Gilda came out onto the verandah. She was wearing her cowboy shirt and jeans. She looked pale, and there were smudges under her eyes as if she hadn’t slept much during the night.
“Gilda!”
I ran up the steps and took her in my arms. Her hands pressed against my chest, keeping me away from her.
“Not here, Terry!”
From the way she looked at me, I knew something was wrong. I let go of her.
“What is it, Gilda?”
She moved away from me and sat down.
“I want to talk to you.”
I sat down. I was suddenly frightened.
“Terry... I have some bad news.”
“Well, all right.” My voice sounded husky. What is it?”
“There’s no money.”
I stared at her. That was the last thing I expected to hear.
“No money?”
“Mr Macklin was here yesterday. He thought I knew. Jack had been spending his money recklessly ever since he was crippled. Mr Macklin kept warning him, but he wouldn’t listen. The rent of this place was ridiculous. It seems he never had very much, although he told me he had. I can’t think why. The money he left won’t even cover his debts. I’m sorry, Terry, but there it is.”