In the Heat of the Night

no time to read them. After his session in Mayor Schubert’s office, he decided to crack them without delay. In the quiet of the early evening, after he had eaten well and put on his slippers, he sat down under a good light and made an earnest attempt to study.
    He began with Snyder’s Homicide Investigation. Before he had gone very far he began to appreciate the number of things he did not know, the number of things that he should have done and hadn’t. There was the matter of the body, for instance; in place of the careful examination that he should have made, or had made for him, he had taken only a quick look and then had quickly left. Furthermore he had done it before witnesses. Fortunately the witnesses were probably not aware of his deficiency.
    Then he remembered that Virgil Tibbs had been there. Not only that, but when invited to do so, Tibbs had made what had apparently been a very thorough examination of the body even though at the time his interest had been purely academic.
    Gillespie put the book down and folded his hands behind his head. In a rare mood of fairness, he admitted to himself that it was score one for the Negro detective. Then the happy thought hit him that he could still ask Tibbs for a report on his findings and thus fill the gap in his own investigations. The only thing against it was that it acknowledged Tibbs had some visible ability in his profession. Gillespie weighed the matter for a moment and then decided the price was not too high to pay. He would look better if he asked for the report. He would do so in the morning.
    When he finally went to bed, he felt that the evening had been very profitable, and he slept well.
    A vestige of his sense of well-being remained in the morning; he planned a number of things he was going to do while he shaved and breakfasted. When he arrived at his office, Eric Kaufmann was waiting to see him. Gillespie received him and waved him to a chair. "What can I do for you?” he asked.
    “I want to request a permit to carry a gun,” Kaufmann replied, coming right to the point.
    “A gun? Why? Do you usually carry large sums of money?” Gillespie asked.
    “I wish I were in a position to,” Kaufmann answered. “Maestro Mantoli often did and—but I’m not accustomed to.”
    “Then why do you want to carry a gun?”
    Kaufmann leaned forward. “I don’t want to cast any reflections on your department, Chief Gillespie, and please don’t take it that way, but there is a murderer loose in this area. He killed the Maestro. His daughter or I may be next. Until we know why the crime was committed, at least, I will feel a lot better with some protection.”
    “You are planning to stay here for a while, then?
    “Yes, Mr. Endicott and the committee have asked me to carry on as administrator of the festival activities, at least until someone else can be chosen. Duena— that’s Miss Mantoli—is going to stay on until after the concerts as the house guest of the Endicotts. She really has no place else to go.”
    “I thought she would be going back to Italy with her father’s body.”
    “She’ll accompany the body to Italy but she’ll be back almost immediately. After all, she was born in this country. Mantoli was an American citizen even though all of his people still live in the old country.” Gillespie was satisfied. “Mr. Kaufmann, have you ever been convicted of a criminal offense?”
    Kaufmann reacted. “Certainly not. I’ve never been in any kind of trouble, not even any serious traffic tickets.”
    Gillespie spoke into his intercom. “Arnold, will you please take Mr. Kaufmann’s application for a gun permit and make up his fingerprint card:”
    “Thank you very much,” Kaufmann said. “Does that mean I may go and buy a gun now?”
    “Technically no,” Gillespie replied. “The forms have to clear through channels first.”
    “How long will that take?”
    “Oh, a few days. However, if you feel yourself to be in any danger, though I am sure we can give you adequate protection here, go get a gun and bring it back here so we can register it. Then I will give you permission to carry it here in the city until your formal permit comes through. But if you go to Atlanta, or any place like that, please don’t take it with you.”
    Kaufmann stood up. “You’ve been very kind,” he said.
    “Not at all.” Gillespie rose, shook hands, and settled back in his chair as Kaufmann disappeared.
    A moment later, Pete, the desk man, came in with