by John Ball
“Andy, go get your father as fast as you can. Then call the police and tell them to come here.”
Andy ran off rapidly. He met his father halfway and poured out his message. A moment later, Tibbs was joined by the big mechanic, whose hands were opening and closing quickly as if waiting for the chance of combat. “They attacked me,” Tibbs said. “Help me watch them.”
Jess looked at the men. “Don’t nobody move!” he commanded. The one who had attacked first was whining softly; his right arm lay twisted in an unnatural position. Andy came running back. “They’re comin’,” he reported. “I told ‘em two men set on Mr. Tibbs and to get the doctor.”
“Good, son,” Jess said. “Now go get me a big tire iron. I don’t need it, but it might be handy.”
Andy took off, winded but eager to do as he was bid. He was back in seconds with the wicked tool. “It’s a good thing we got that phone for emergency repair calls,” Jess said to Tibbs.
Presently a siren could be heard wailing its way from the direction of the highway. Red lights came into view down the street and then the patrol car obeyed Andy’s frantic signal to pull up to the curb. There were two uniformed men in it. Tibbs pointed to the figures which still lay quietly on the ground. “Assault with a deadly weapon,” Tibbs said. “I’ll prefer charges when we get to the station.”
“You’ll prefer charges?” one of the uniformed men questioned.
“I think he’s Virgil,” his partner said.
“I’m Virgil,” Tibbs admitted. “Go easy with the man on the right. I think his arm’s dislocated or broken.”
When they reached the station, Gillespie was waiting for them in the lobby. “What happened?” he demanded.
“I had dinner with Jess the mechanic, the man you introduced me to,” Virgil told him. “When I came out and was on my way back to my car, two men jumped me. One of them tried to club me with a piece of wood.”
Gillespie seemed strangely pleased. “Bring ‘em into my office,” he ordered, and led the way. When the party had assembled as he directed, the chief sat behind his desk and viewed the two men for a long minute without speaking. Then he drew breath and made the room shake with the power of his voice. “Which of you two punks wrote me an anonymous letter?” he demanded.
There was no answer. The silence was broken by the buzz of the intercom. Gillespie flipped the key. “The doctor you sent for is here,” the night man announced.
“Bring him in,” Bill directed. A moment later, the desk man ushered in a tall, very slender, elderly Negro who carried a black bag. “I’m Dr. Harding,” he said.
Gillespie pointed a long finger at the man who clutched his injured arm to his side. “Fix him up,” he ordered. “When I heard two guys had jumped Virgil, I figured it was Virgil who got hurt so I told the desk man to call a colored doctor. Now you’re here, you might as well go to work.”
Dr. Harding ignored the insult and looked at his patient. “He’ll have to lie down,” he said. “Where can we put him?”
“Keep your hands off me,” the man said. “I want my own doctor.”
“Shut up,” Gillespie barked. “I don’t like people who write me letters and tell me what to do. We’re providing you with a doctor like the law says.”
“You won’t last long in this town,” the man retorted.
“Long enough,” Gillespie said. “Take him in a cell and let the doctor work on him there.”
The injured man was led away. Gillespie directed his attention to the other man. “All right, whose idea was this? Talk or you’ll be in one heap of trouble.”
“I ain’t worried,” the man told him. “I’ll demand a jury trial. You know what that means.”
“Sure, I know what it means,” Gillespie told him. “So I’ll tell you what I’m going to do. I’m going to call the paper and tell them how you and your pal jumped a little colored guy and that he beat the both of you up. Then you can have your jury trial.”
“My story is that he and his big black pal jumped us with clubs,” the man said, still unshaken. “We was minding our own business.”
“Sure, in niggertown. You and your pal were on your way to a nice black whorehouse, just two respectable citizens, when you got mugged. Wise up; either way you lose.”
“I ain’t talkin’,” the man maintained stubbornly.
Gillespie turned toward Tibbs. “You aren’t a white man, but I guess you can fight,” he conceded.
“The credit goes to the man who taught me,” Tibbs said. “His name is Takahashi and he isn’t Caucasian, either.”
He turned toward the door. “I’ve got a job to finish and I’m getting near to the end. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to get back to work.”
To Tibbs’s surprise, Gillespie got up and walked down the corridor with him. “Virgil,” he said when they were by themselves, “I think you’re smart enough to know you’ve got to get out of this town. Tonight you were lucky. Next time somebody may take a shot at you and that you can’t duck. I’m giving you my advice—get out of here before I’ve got another murder on my hands. I’ll tell them in Pasadena you did a good job for me.”
“I’ll get out, Chief Gillespie,” Virgil answered, “but not until I have delivered Mantoli’s murderer to you together with the proof of his guilt. I’ve got to do that first; perhaps you understand why.”
“I won’t be responsible,” Gillespie said.
“That’s all right,” Tibbs acknowledged, and hurried through the lobby.
Duena Mantoli sat in the quiet of the early evening in the high lookout where, a few days before, Sam Wood had perched stiffly beside her. Now she was alone, looking out over the silent parade of the mountains trying to sort out her thoughts. She knew now that Sam Wood stood accused of seducing a sixteen-year-old girl, the daughter of an almost illiterate laborer.
Although she did not want to do so, she coldly compared herself to what she imagined the other girl to be. Then, with mounting shame, she saw herself standing on tiptoe in a jail cell to press her kiss on the lips of the man in whom she had found a sudden faith. That faith was gone now, which made her action, in retrospect, something cheap and vulgar. She folded her arms about herself and knew she had been a fool. It was hopeless to assume that breeding and what is called common decency could ever stamp out the basic instincts of sexual drive. Sam Wood was a big, strong man and he was unmarried. The girl, whoever she was, had been able to give him animal gratification.
Duena shuddered and tears of anger came to her eyes. She continued to sit there until Endicott, worried, came down to find her and take her back.
It was a little after nine on Saturday morning when Delores Purdy answered the doorbell. She preened herself for a moment first, because a girl could never tell who might be there. When she swung the door open and looked into the dark-skinned face of Virgil Tibbs, her mood changed abruptly. “Niggers go to the back door,” she snapped.
“This one doesn’t,” Tibbs said. “I came to see your father.”
“Don’t you come in the door,” she ordered, and then shut it in his face. A minute later, it was reopened by Purdy with an expression of profound distaste on his face. “Get away from here,” he said. “We don’t want you ‘round.”
“You don’t have any choice,” Tibbs told him, and calmly walked in. “I’m from police headquarters and I’ve come to talk to you and your daughter.”
“I know who you are,” Purdy snarled. “Now get out of here fast or I’ll break you in two.”
“If you try that,” Tibbs retorted, “I won’t be responsible for what happens to you. Two other guys tried it last night.”
“Yeah, I heard tell. You and your pal jumped ‘em at night and beat ‘em up with tire irons. One of ‘em is in the hospital.”
“If you don’t want to join him, shut up and sit down,” Tibbs commanded. “I’ve had about all I’m going to take of ignorant back talk from you or anybody else. You came in and filed charges; I’m here to talk about them.”
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sp; “Ain’t nothing more to say,” Purdy said. “And no nigger is gonna sit down in my front parlor.”
Tibbs walked in and sat down. “I came here to help you keep out of prison,” he said.
Delores entered. “Pa, make him go away,” she demanded.
“I’ll go when I’m ready,” Tibbs said. “Before I’m through talking to you, you’ll both know that my coming here was the luckiest thing that could have happened to you.”
“Niggers bring bad luck,” Delores said.
“Mr. Purdy,” Tibbs began, assuming a conference had begun, “you and your daughter came to the station and told us that somebody had done her wrong. Now it’s our job to see that she’s taken care of, that the man is punished, and that her reputation is protected.”
“Sam Wood done her wrong,” Purdy said.
Tibbs nodded as though he believed it. “So you told us. Of course, Chief Gillespie was very surprised; Mr. Wood has been on the force for several years and was always looked on as a very reliable man.”
“He’s in jail for murder.” Purdy raised his voice almost to a scream.
Tibbs nodded again. “I know. I’m not going to give away any secrets but maybe there’s a reason for it you don’t know. I sat in a jail cell once for almost three weeks until the man who was in there too told me something the police wanted very badly to know.”
“Black cop,” Purdy threw it down like a curse.
“Now about the case of your daughter,” Tibbs said quietly. “Whenever this happens and the man admits his responsibility, that’s all there is to it. But Wood is a stubborn man. He won’t admit that he did it. So now all the tests will have to be given. That is unless you can help me prove him guilty.”
“You mean I got to tell it again?” Delores asked.
“What tests?” Purdy wanted to know.
“Well, in a case of this kind there is a lot that has to be done. The law says so. You see, it’s hard for a man to prove he didn’t have relations with a girl; the only way he can do it is through certain medical evidence.”
“What’s that?” Purdy asked. “She’s my natural-born daughter.”
Tibbs spread his hands. “Nobody doubts that,” he said. “And everybody knows you’re a respectable man. But because Sam Wood says he never even talked to your daughter, the cops are going to take some tests on her just to be sure.”
“There ain’t no test’ll tell who done it to a girl,” Delores protested.
“That’s right,” Tibbs agreed, “but there are tests that will prove a certain person didn’t do it. Those are the ones you’re going to have to take.”
“Like what?” Purdy asked.
“Well, first they take a sample of her blood. That isn’t so bad. They stick a needle in her vein at the forearm and draw out enough to fill some test tubes.”
“I don’t like needles stuck in me,” Delores protested.
“Who’s gonna do that?” Purdy demanded.
“The doctor will do that,” Tibbs replied. “All these tests are done by doctors; nobody else will touch your daughter.”
“They better not,” Purdy said.
“Then, after that,” Tibbs went on, “they have to make an examination to make sure that she was violated as she says. Also they have to find out whether or not she is going to have a baby.”
Purdy sprang to his feet, his face twisted in a rage. “Ain’t nobody gonna look at her secrets,” he thundered. “I’ll shoot the man who tries to look at her secrets. You get outa here.”
Tibbs continued to sit still. “All I’m doing is warning you,” he explained. “You want to know these things before they come and do them when you’re away, don’t you?”
“Nobody’s gonna look at her secrets,” Purdy persisted.
“The only thing that will save her is if the man confesses,” Virgil emphasized. “He says he’s innocent, you filed charges, so the doctors have to examine her.”
“Gillespie can stop it,” Purdy said. “You’ll see.”
Tibbs shook his head. “He’d like to, of course, but the law won’t let him. Wood can get a court order through his lawyer and then you have no choice.” Tibbs locked his hands together and stared at them as he made his next statement. “Now I want to tell you something that’s very important. But I don’t want you to tell anyone I told you. I just don’t want to see an innocent man like you framed and put into trouble.”
“They can’t do nothin’ to me, I didn’t do it.” Purdy let his voice reach for hysteria. “I told you she’s my own natural-born daughter.”
“Of course she is,” Tibbs said, putting sudden authority in his tone. “But suppose you get up in court and say that Sam Wood is the man who got her into trouble. Then suppose the doctor makes a mistake and says he isn’t. That leaves you guilty of perjury, swearing falsely in court, and for that you can go to prison. That’s what I want to warn you about and tell you how to protect yourself.”
“Doctors don’t make mistakes like that,” Delores protested, but heavy strain showed in her voice.
“Sometimes they do,” Tibbs said, “and juries believe them. Now suppose you tell me just how it happened, then I’ll try to get Sam Wood to confess. If he does, you both have nothing to worry about.”
“You mean then they’ll leave us alone?” Purdy wanted to know.
“That’s right,” Tibbs told him.
He turned to his daughter. “Tell him,” he ordered.
Delores wiggled in her chair and tried her utmost to look the violated virgin. Instead she looked more like a carnival Kewpie-doll.
“Well, he’s always coming past here at night, peeking in the windows,” Delores began. “I should of told my pa but I was kinda scared, him bein’ a cop and all that. Then one night when Pa was out he come by and knocked on the door. Said he was on his way to work. He was askin’ for names of girls who would like to be queen of the music festival. He said I was real cute and he wanted to put my name down for queen.”
She stopped and looked up. Virgil nodded for her to go on.
“Well, he sweet-talked quite a bit and said even though he worked nights, he still saw a lot of people and could get me enough votes so’s I’d win. Iffin I did, I’d win me a trip to New York. I don’t remember too much after that. He gave me a drink he said wouldn’t hurt me but would make me feel real good. He said I was the future queen and everybody would wish they was me. He said in New York I’d learn to sing and dance and maybe even be in the movies. He said he could make it all come true and that I oughta be real grateful to him. … After that I don’t remember so much except when he went away he said for me not to worry because he had been careful. Them’s his words, he said he’d been careful.”
Tibbs got to his feet. “You’re sure it was Sam?” he asked. “I just don’t want to make any mistakes that might hurt you.”
Delores looked up, her face a mask. “It was Sam,” she said.
Virgil Tibbs left the house and drove away. He went to the police station and put in a long-distance call to Gottschalk, the missile engineer. Then he paid a visit to Harvey Oberst, who hated to be seen with a Negro but who remembered that this particular Negro had gotten him out of jail. Then he called on the Reverend Amos Whiteburn and talked to two small boys who were produced for his benefit. After that he returned to the police station and phoned a hotel in Atlanta. All this done, he called on two Negro residents of Wells and four white residents, two of whom refused to receive him. He also paid a visit to Dr. Harding. When at last he was finished, he was weary almost to exhaustion. He had had very little sleep and he was tired of battling opposition that was no fault of his. But at least he had his reward. He was ready now to talk to Bill Gillespie.
CHAPTER
12
IN THE MORNING, after a bitter and restless night, Duena Mantoli arose to find that she had made up her mind. She took a long, refreshing shower. When she was through, she paused for a minute to look at herself in the glass. She knew that she was unusually pretty and s
he knew also that she worked hard to keep herself that way. Very well; physically she could at least match anything that wore skirts; the thing she must do now was to call upon another part of her heritage. It was time for her to use her brain.
She dressed and went down to breakfast. George and Grace Endicott were waiting for her. “We’ve heard from Eric,” Grace told her as soon as she was seated, “and he has very good news. Two pieces of it. First of all, he’s managed to get a very prominent conductor to save the festival for us.”