In the Heat of the Night

I’ll slap him down hard. I know he was down at the bank, but he was very respectful there and so far he hasn’t done anything that I can pin him for.”
    “I still don’t like it,” Watkins insisted. “No news magazine in New York run by a bunch of nigger lovers is going to tell us what to do in our town. We live here and we run this place.”
    Frank Schubert slapped the palm of his hand hard against the top of his desk. “Will, we all feel the same way, there’s no question about that. But be practical. Gillespie is keeping this buck where he wants him. As for Newsweek, I don’t know who runs it and frankly I don’t care. I like it and I subscribe to it. Now be reasonable. We got to ride it out. And this could be a big break for us.”
    "I don’t care what we do,” Watkins retorted. “But I want to get rid of that nigger before the boys get im- patient and rough him up. Then we’ll get some publicity that we don’t want. We might even get the FBI down here…”
    Schubert hit the desk again. “Sure, sure. But the point is, we all want to get the case over with and get rid of the shine boy. Bill here says he has things under control. If he says so, then that’s it.” He turned to Gillespie. “We’re with you, Bill, you know that. Go ahead and do your job; just don’t let it drag on too long. When that’s done, everything will be solved and maybe we can get back to normal around here.”
    Dennis turned it sour. “No, we can’t; first we’ve got to have our damn music festival and keep our women locked up nights while the tourists are in town. We’re in some shape: we’ve got nice logs for the people to sit on and a stiff for a conductor. After we clean up that mess, then maybe we can get back to normal business around here.”
    Schubert teetered on the brink of an explosion but managed to control himself. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. I think we all understand each other,” he said firmly, “and Bill has work to do. So have I. Thanks for coming, and we’ll keep you informed.”
    The meeting broke up in silence.
    On his way back to his office, Bill Gillespie clenched and unclenched his hands. There had to be a routine for murder investigation; he decided to dig it out and put it into effect. He had a staff and he was going to see that they went to work.

    When Sam Wood reported for work at a quarter of twelve that night, he was surprised to find Virgil Tibbs sitting quietly in the lobby. He was even more surprised when he learned that Virgil was waiting for him.
    After Sam had completed his check-in procedure, Tibbs came over and spoke to him. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to ride with you tonight.”
    Sam was puzzled by the request. He could think of several reasons why the Negro detective should and should not ride with him. “You mean all night?” Sam asked.
    Tibbs nodded. “All night.”
    “I don’t know what Gillespie would say.” Sam hesitated.
    “He told me to do what I liked. I’d like to ride with you.”
    “Come along then.” Sam didn’t like the idea of eight hours of companionship with Tibbs, but then he reflected that after three years of patrolling his shift alone, it wouldn’t hurt too much to have a passenger for one night. In fact it might be a good night to have someone else in the car. He recalled with a stab of conscience his uneasy concern of the previous night. And if he had refused to take Tibbs, Gillespie might have lit into him for that, too. The night man was a witness that Tibbs had asked him and had indicated that Gillespie had given his blessing. Sam decided to make the best of it and led the way to his patrol car.
    When Sam slid behind the wheel, Tibbs opened the opposite door with quiet casualness and sat in the front seat beside him. Sam gripped the wheel firmly and wondered what to say about it. Still, they had sat this way on the drive up to the Endicott house; very well, he could stand it again. He started the engine and backed out of the police parking lot.
    “What do you want me to do?” he asked as soon as the car was well away from the station.
    “If it’s not too much trouble,” Tibbs replied, “I’d like you, as closely as you can, to do exactly as you did the night Mantoli was killed. Try to follow the same route and at the same speed. Do you think you can do that?”
    “I can follow the same route exactly, and I won’t miss the time by five minutes when I make out my report.”
    “That would help a great deal. Do