In the Heat of the Night

chest when he was trying to defend himself. Even if he was ambidextrous, he would still use his primary hand to do that, and he thumped himself with his left forefinger. I noticed when he walked in that he was probably innocent, but that confirmed it, in my judgment.” Tibbs took another bite from his sandwich and moistened it with a sip of the thick black coffee.
    “I didn’t ask if you wanted sugar,” Arnold said.
    “This is fine, thank you,” Tibbs replied.
    “You just looked at that guy and decided that he was probably innocent. What was that, intuition?” Gillespie asked.
    “No, his shoes,” Tibbs answered, “and the fact that he needed a shave.”
    Suddenly Gillespie fell silent. Arnold waited for his superior to ask why shoes and a shave were important. Then he realized that Gillespie would not do that; it would be a comedown for him and Bill Gillespie did not take kindly to comedowns. Arnold cleared his throat.
    He waited until Tibbs had his mouth empty between bites and then asked, “Why?”
    “Consider the circumstances of the attack,” Tibbs replied. “Mantoli was hit over the head from behind. That means that he was either assaulted by someone he knew and trusted, who stepped behind him for a moment and then hit him, or, more likely, someone sneaked up on him quietly enough to hit him without warning. If Mantoli had been warned, even by a second, he would have turned his head somewhat and the blow would have landed at a different angle on the skull.”
    “I can see that,” Arnold agreed.
    “The suspect is wearing hard leather heels,” Tibbs continued, “and he has steel plates on them to make them wear longer. In those shoes every step he takes is noisy and he couldn’t possibly have made a surprise attack with them on.”
    “A man can change his shoes any time,” Gillespie interrupted.
    “You’re correct, of course, Chief Gillespie,” Tibbs agreed, “but you mentioned to me that this man is ‘poor white trash,’ which suggests that he has only a limited number of pairs of shoes and doesn’t change them too often. Judging by the stubble on his chin I would guess that he was up all night. If he went home to change his shoes, he would probably shave, too. He does so regularly; there were razor nicks under his chin that showed that.”
    “I didn’t see them,” Gillespie challenged.
    “I’m sitting at a lower angle than you are, Chief Gillespie,” Tibbs answered, “and the light was much better from my side.”
    “You’re pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you, Virgil,” Gillespie retorted. “Incidentally, Virgil is a pretty fancy name for a black boy like you. What do they call you around home where you come from?”
    “They call me Mr. Tibbs,” Virgil answered.

    Sam Wood drove slowly as he guided his patrol car up the road that led to the Endicott place. Although the sun was blazing down now, the intense heat seemed more bearable, largely because he expected the days to be hot. The thing that bothered him was the hot nights, for somehow the darkness and the setting of the sun ought to bring relief. When they didn’t, the discomfort seemed twice as great.
    The road climbed steadily. The main section of Wells was now several hundred feet below and there was still a distance to go to reach the very top of the hill where the Endicotts had their home. Sam knew where it was, as did nearly everyone in Wells, since the Endicotts were known to have money, but he had never met them or been to their home. As he drove he tried to form in his mind the sentences that he would use in breaking the news. It would not be easy. Somehow he imagined that Mantoli’s daughter, the Endicotts’ house guest, did not have a mother. Now she would be all alone in the world—unless, of course, she had a husband. Probably she did, he decided; Italian girls married early, had too many kids, and got fat.
    The road leveled off at the top of the hill, ending at a small parking lot which Sam quickly estimated would hold six or eight cars. He parked carefully and closed the door quietly as he stepped to the ground. The sun seemed brighter up here, but the air, he thought, was not quite as hot. It was a magnificent location; despite the seriousness of his errand, Sam could not help being moved by the sweeping panoramic view of the Great Smokies. Long rows of serrated mountains lifted their peaks all the way to the distant horizon. Sam walked toward the front door, which opened for him before he had