In the Heat of the Night (RosettaBooks into Film)

by John Ball

  “Who is it?” Duena asked.

  “Eric wouldn’t say; he said he wanted to surprise us when he gets here. The other good news is that the agency handling the ticket sales reports we are doing much better than they had expected.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” Duena said. She drank a glass of orange juice and then told them what was really on her mind. “You’re going to think I’m crazy when I tell you this, but I’m going down to the city today to see Mr. Schubert. I want to talk to him.”

  “What about?” Endicott asked.

  “I don’t like the way things are going. Something’s wrong. He’s got a man in jail I happen to think is innocent. I don’t understand why he hasn’t been released on bail or else brought up for indictment, whatever the legal procedure is.”

  Grace Endicott took over. “I wouldn’t, Duena. Frankly, neither you nor I are experts in these things and all we could do is get in the way of the people who are. It won’t help matters and it might even hinder them.”

  Duena poured herself more orange juice and drank it. “You don’t understand. Mr. Wood, the officer who was up here … that day … is in jail. He’s not guilty, I know it. Don’t ask me why now, but I know. That’s why I want to see the mayor.”

  George Endicott picked his words carefully. “Duena, I think you’re getting emotionally involved. Sit tight and let the men handle it. If Wood is innocent, he won’t be in jail very long. And then there’s Tibbs; he impresses me as competent.”

  “That won’t help him much here,” Duena retorted. Then she changed her tack. “Oh, well. Are you going down today?”

  “Yes, this afternoon.”

  “Then may I come along for the ride? Maybe I can at least do some shopping.”

  Endicott nodded his consent to that.

  Frank Schubert adjusted his posture in his chair, conscious of the challenging femininity of his visitor. He wondered how she had talked George Endicott into bringing her here, but it was evident that she had.

  “Miss Mantoli,” he began, “I’m going to be very truthful with you; in fact I’m going to give you some confidential information. Will you promise me to keep it strictly to yourself?”

  “I promise,” Duena said.

  “All right. I don’t know how much you know about the economy of the South, but certain areas have been very hard hit. Wells is one of them. We aren’t on the main highway, only on an alternate route that perhaps one car in fifty chooses to take. That means that we lose a lot of tourist revenue. Agriculture is on the decline in this vicinity, industry so far has refused to move here, and putting it bluntly, both the city itself and many of the people in it are close to being on the rocks.”

  Duena, who was listening carefully, nodded.

  “We realized—the council members and myself—that something would have to be done about it or we would be in a very serious situation. So George here came up with the music-festival idea. It didn’t go over too well at first, but he convinced us that it would put us on the tourist map. If that were to happen, it would be a tremendous help. So, with some misgivings, we went ahead. I understand now that ticket sales are very good, so George appears to have proved his point.

  “Now this brings up another matter, one that concerns you directly—or indirectly. The job of police chief came open and we had to fill it. None of the men on the force were anywhere near to being ready to step into the job. So we had an idea. We thought that if we advertised the opening, we might attract a good lawman who would take the job even at a very small salary, for the sake of the title and the experience. Then, when we got on our feet, we could raise his salary enough to keep him or else hire a replacement if we wanted to.

  “Well, it worked out that our thinking, as far as it went, was correct. We had several applicants willing to work for the salary for the sake of the career advancement it would represent. One of them was Bill Gillespie. Certain members of the council—and I’m mentioning no names—insisted on a southerner, who would at least do all he could to maintain our traditional race relationships. Someone from the North might shove integration down our throats long before we were ready to accept it and, if possible, make it work.”

  “So you hired Gillespie,” Duena said.

  “We did. His record looked very good, as much as we could hope for for what we had to offer. Personally, I will tell you in strict confidence that I consider we made a bad choice, but at least the certain council members I spoke of a moment ago were satisfied.”

  Schubert looked about him as if to make sure that no one else was within earshot. Then he leaned forward to make his words more confidential. “If he has the wrong man in jail, he will be out before very long, I’ll promise you that. But you must understand there is strong evidence against him. Now I have talked to some of the council members, and I’m telling George here now that if Gillespie doesn’t get this thing straightened out in the next few days, we’re going to recall him. He’s under contract, but there’s a trial period and it isn’t over yet. So don’t worry, we’ll handle that end.”

  It was a few minutes before four when George Endicott and Duena Mantoli left the mayor’s office. They had received word that Eric Kaufmann was coming by early in the evening. When George Endicott had suggested staying down for a quiet supper and then picking up Kaufmann afterward, Duena had had her chance. It was still too early to eat but she had another idea. “I have to see Mr. Tibbs,” she explained.

  “I think you had better postpone that,” Endicott advised. “If you went over there now you might make an inadvertent slip and that could be serious.”

  Duena looked up at him with an expression which combined disappointment and reproach; George Endicott suddenly decided that perhaps in his capacity as councilman he ought to exchange a few words with Bill Gillespie.

  Arnold spoke through the bars to Sam Wood. “You’ve got another visitor.” He swung open the door to admit Virgil Tibbs. The Pasadena detective walked in without an invitation and sat down on the edge of the hard bunk.

  “Well, Virgil,” Sam asked wearily, “what is it now?”

  “I just wanted to tell you,” Tibbs replied, “that I’m going in to see Gillespie as soon as he gets back here. When I do, I’m going to prove to him, so that even he can see it, that you’re innocent. I think I can make him let you go.”

  Sam spoke without inflection. “Why don’t you just give up and go home. I thought you were smart.”

  “I haven’t finished my job,” Virgil answered. “The world is full of a lot of people who never accomplished anything because they wouldn’t see it through. I have two things left to do here: to get you cleared and out of here, and to deliver a murderer to Gillespie. Then I can go home.”

  “I wish you luck,” Sam said. He didn’t look at Virgil as he spoke.

  “Before I go in to see Gillespie, I want to clear up a point or two with you,” Tibbs said. “I’m pretty sure I know the answers, but the less I have to guess, the stronger my case is going to be.”

  Sam shrugged his shoulders. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.

  “On the night that we rode together on patrol, you made a slight change of route and you made it on purpose. At the time I didn’t know why. I think I do now. You wanted to avoid going past the Purdy house, is that right?”

  Sam showed some signs of life. “Virgil, I wish you wouldn’t mess in this. I know you’re trying to help, but …”

  “Also,” Virgil continued, “I think I know why you didn’t want to go past the Purdy house that night.”

  “Have you been driving past there?” Sam asked suspiciously.

  “No,” Tibbs answered, “I didn’t have to. Harvey Oberst told me all I needed to know the day he was here in the station.”

  He stopped then and there was silence for a while. Sometimes he found it best to let someone have the opportunity to collect his thoughts. He knew that Sam was thinking and that is exactly what he wanted him to do. Finally Sam broke the silence.

  “Vir
gil, let’s go back to the beginning. You’ve said several times I changed route on you that night. Why do you think so?”

  “There’s nothing to that,” Tibbs replied. “The night we were together you detoured down a short stretch of dirt road. When I was waiting for you outside the diner a little after that, I noticed the dust the road had left on the car.”

  “That’s not unusual,” Sam interrupted.

  “Granted, but the night you picked me up at the railroad station, there was no dust on the car. That means you couldn’t have gone down that dirt road shortly before you picked me up.”

  “Maybe you just didn’t notice the dust.”

  “I noticed. Besides, I had a hunch the car had been washed that afternoon, and I later checked with the garage that maintains the official cars. Even a light film of dust would have been visible.”

  “You mean when I arres— when I brought you in for questioning, you still took the time to notice how much dust there was on my car? You couldn’t, you were a little too scared at that point, Virgil.”

  “No, I wasn’t,” Tibbs answered. “I simply kept my mouth shut until I knew what the score was. It was the only safe thing to do. But I kept my eyes open because I’m trained to do that.”

  “Well, for example, how do you know that it hadn’t rained and settled the dust on that short stretch?” Sam persisted.

  “I checked the weather-bureau records on that point.”

  Silence took over once more. Sam digested the information he had just been given and decided that to hold out any longer would be not only foolish but probably useless. Whether he liked to admit it or not, Tibbs knew his business. Then Sam reflected that at least the man whose race had created a barrier he had found almost impossible to climb was on his side. That was a comforting thought. He decided to give Tibbs his reward.

  “So far,” he admitted, “you’re right.”

  “I wish you’d told me earlier, Sam,” Tibbs said more easily. “It would have saved a lot of time—your time, I mean.” To Sam’s surprise Tibbs rose to his feet. “For your information, I had a little talk with Mr. Purdy and his daughter Delores. I scared them pretty well with the prospect of medical examinations to uphold her story, then I made a date for them to come in here late this afternoon for an ‘examination.’ I didn’t say what kind. If I can get her to change her story in front of witnesses, then the charge against you goes out the window. When you’ve been proved innocent of that, the rest will be easier.”

  For the first time Sam felt the desire to cooperate. “Virgil, maybe it would help if somehow you could find out who did knock her up. I know that’s asking a lot.”

  “Thanks, Sam,” Virgil replied. “I think I already know the answer.”

  When Bill Gillespie was told that Virgil Tibbs wanted to see him, he decided to keep Virgil waiting a few minutes just to keep him in his place. After what he considered a proper disciplinary period, he buzzed the intercom and said that he could come in.

  Because of the delay, Tibbs walked into Gillespie’s office at almost the exact moment that George Endicott escorted Duena Mantoli into the lobby of the police station. Endicott was edgy about the call, but he realized he had a determined girl on his hands and he preferred to have the interview with Gillespie take place when he could at least exercise some control. He stepped to the desk. “We’d like to see Chief Gillespie,” he stated. “Is he free right now?”

  Pete, knowing he was addressing a councilman and the wealthiest citizen of Wells, said, “You can go right in. Nobody’s with him but Virgil.”

  They walked down the hall and George tapped on the side of the open door. Gillespie looked up, saw who it was, and said, “Come on in.”

  Then he stood up when he saw Duena also appear in the doorway. “Sit down, please,” he invited after he had been introduced to the girl. “Virgil, run along and I’ll talk to you some other time.”

  Virgil did not move to go. “What I have to say is fairly important, Chief Gillespie. Since Miss Mantoli and Mr. Endicott are here, perhaps it would be just as well if they heard it, too.”

  Gillespie raised his fist to bang it on his desk. Backtalk he would not take from anyone, least of all a man who stood on the wrong side of the color line. Endicott saw it and quickly spoke first. “This sounds interesting. With your permission, Bill, I’d like to hear what Mr. Tibbs has to say.”

  “So would I,” Duena added.

  Gillespie could see no way out. Inwardly vowing a quick and deadly reprisal the moment he had Tibbs alone, he accepted temporary defeat. “As you wish, Mr. Endicott.”

  They all sat down. “Before I begin,” Virgil said, “I’d like to ask that Sam Wood be brought in here to listen.” He looked at Gillespie. “Also Chief Gillespie may want to ask him some questions.”

  Fuming and cornered, Gillespie flipped his intercom and gave an order; a few moments later Sam Wood was ushered into the room. Gillespie nodded silently toward a chair and Wood sat down. With a second nod Gillespie dismissed Arnold, who had brought the prisoner in. Still holding down a dangerous inner pressure, he stared hard at Tibbs. “All right, Virgil, you’d better make it good.”

  Tibbs laced his fingers together and pressed them tightly. He stared at them for a second or two before he began speaking. “I’m going to start with the personality of a young woman, Delores Purdy.” He looked up. “Miss Purdy is the daughter of a visibly retarded man whose intellectual level and education are both substandard. I haven’t met her mother, but her family background, at the best, is lacking.”

  “I know all this,” Gillespie snapped.

  Tibbs waited a moment and then went on. “Delores Purdy is eighteen years old; she passes for sixteen so she will not be scoffed at in school for being two grades behind the point where she should be. The fact that she is actually eighteen puts her over the age of consent, so any question of statutory rape is eliminated right there.

  “Now Miss Purdy has one characteristic which has ap peared on the police records quite clearly. She is an exhibitionist. For some reason she has the idea that her body is enchanting and likely to provide an unqualified thrill to anyone who sees it—anyone male, that is. It is fairly common in girls of her age who feel, in one way or another, that they have been deprived of social acceptance. They believe they can overcome this handicap by sensational conduct, irresistible to males.”

  He looked up to see how Duena was taking his words. She showed frank interest; so did the other three men. He went on. “The most common thing that happens is that a girl in these circumstances gives herself to a man in the hope of attaching him to her for the sake of her physical advantages. Sometimes it works, sometimes it simply brings about a further rejection.

  “According to Harvey Oberst, who is a little older than she is, she displayed herself to him without his even asking for that favor. I believe this is so because of two supporting pieces of evidence. The first is her visit here to file a complaint against Mr. Wood. It is a serious matter to come into a police station to make an accusation against a popular and respected officer. But instead of being in the least upset, she had on figure-revealing clothes and wore her brassiere in such a way that it pushed her breasts up in an unnatural and highly conspicuous position. That is not the action of a modest girl who has been violated.”

  Tibbs paused and waited a moment, but none of his four hearers showed any signs of interrupting him.

  “Now we come to the matter of Mr. Wood. On the night of the murder, Mr. Wood drove his police car past the Purdy home. This was entirely consistent with careful performance of his duty; he had already covered almost every other part of the city and for him to patrol this area was both his privilege and his obligation. He went past a few minutes after three in the morning. He has not told me what took place at that moment, but I can guess. A few nights later, when I was riding with him, Mr. Wood pointedly avoided driving past the Purdy house; not knowing why, I jumped to the conclusion that he had something to conceal. My faith in him was s
haken for a time; I was wrong, and for thinking that of him, I apologize.”

  “How did you know where the Purdys live?” Gillespie asked.

  “Harvey Oberst mentioned it when I interviewed him here a few days ago, and I checked for myself with the records.”

  Gillespie nodded that he was satisfied.

  “Now putting the pieces together as far as we have them, here is what happened as closely as I can reconstruct it. At some time in the recent past, Miss Purdy was indiscreet with a man of her acquaintance and ended up either pregnant or believing she might be. Who that man is is not important at the moment, except that she couldn’t or didn’t want to marry him. Believing herself to be ‘in trouble,’ she did what many young women have done—she looked around for someone to blame who would be unable to defend himself positively and who would be a more desirable temporary husband or source of obstetrical and child-care expenses. Fortunately this variation on the old badger game is thoroughly understood in police circles so that the unsupported word of a girl is seldom taken at its face value without some sort of supporting evidence. Of course, Mr. Gillespie knows this well.