In the Heat of the Night

have one dropped into your lap and he has a black skin?
    Gillespie changed his mind and drove home. He shaved, put some deodorant under his armpits in lieu of a shower, rebrushed his hair, and drove back through the morning traffic to the police station. On the way he made one decision: he would get rid of Tibbs as soon as possible. The Pasadena boys had been pulling his leg when they recommended him. Nobody could tell him that a colored man could do anything he couldn’t do.
    Reinforced by this thought, Gillespie climbed the steps to the station three at a time, stopped at the desk, and demanded, “Where’s Tibbs?”
    The day man, who clearly knew fully what was going on, said, “I believe, sir, he’s still examining the body.”
    “Still examining the body!” Gillespie exploded. “What the hell is he trying to do, find out how a man died who was hit over the head hard enough to break his skull?”
    “I looked in a minute before I came on duty,” the day man replied. “At that time he was removing the dirt from under the fingernails. He asked if we had a microscope and I said that we didn’t. Then he took a ring off the corpse’s finger and looked at the initials inside. By that time I had to leave to come on duty.
    When Gillespie reached his office, he found Sam Wood waiting for him. “I thought I had better report to you before I went home,” Sam explained, “in case you wanted to ask me any questions or have me stay on duty for a while.”
    Gillespie allowed himself to look human for a moment. “That was very thoughtful of you, Wood,” he acknowledged. “Sit down and tell me what you think of our colored friend, Officer Virgil Tibbs.”
    Sam sat down. “I think he’s got guts,” he answered, looking at his chief. Then he changed his tone, as though the statement, in retrospect, had been too strong for him. “At least, he isn’t afraid to handle a corpse.”
    “I thought he said he didn’t like to examine bodies,” Gillespie interjected.
    “I took that to mean that he didn’t like homicides,” Sam replied.
    “I thought homicides were supposed to be his business.”
    The conversation was interrupted when Virgil Tibbs appeared in the doorway.
    “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said, “but could you tell me where I can wash?”
    Gillespie answered immediately. “The colored washroom is down the hall to your right.”
    Tibbs nodded and disappeared.
    “There’s no soap or towels down there,” Sam reminded Gillespie.
    “That’s what he’s got a shirttail for,” Gillespie snapped back.
    Sam recrossed his legs the other way, tightened for a moment, and then relaxed. It was none of his affair. He wanted to leave, but when he half started to rise, he remembered that he had offered to stay on duty and that he had not received an answer. He looked at Gillespie, who, in turn, was staring down at his immense hands, which he had folded on top of his desk. The storm clouds began to gather in his face. Then he looked up. “Suppose you take your car and see if you can locate
    Mantoli’s daughter. I heard she was a house guest of the Endicotts. Break the news to her and get her down here to make a positive identification of the body. I know that it will be difficult, but that is part of our job. You had better leave right away if you want to get to her before she hears it some other way. We haven’t given anything out, but you can’t keep a secret in this town very long.”
    Virgil Tibbs reappeared in the open doorway and looked at Gillespie. “Do you wish the results of my examination, sir?” he asked.
    Gillespie leaned back at a slight angle; because of his size, it was as far as he could go without risking a fall backward. “I’ve thought about it, Virgil, and I’ve decided that the best thing would be for you to leave town on the next train. This is no place for you. I know all I need to know about the body. Tell your boss when you get home that I appreciate his offer of your services, but they are quite unacceptable and you know why.”
    Gillespie leaned forward again. “Oh, yes,” he added. “I’m having a release typed up absolving us from false arrest charges in your case. I want you to sign it before you go.”
    “As one policeman to another,” Tibbs said evenly, “I don’t intend to sue you or Mr. Wood for false arrest. You don’t need to bother with a release. Thanks for your hospitality.”
    An arm suddenly pushed Tibbs aside and Pete, his face flushed, appeared in