In the Heat of the Night

of wood and examined it curiously. There were unmistakable stains at one end which gave grisly proof of what it probably had done. The chief turned it around in his fingers and then sighted down its length to see how straight it was “How did you find it?” he asked.
    “I had some help,” Tibbs acknowledged. He waited for further questions.
    Gillespie continued to turn the piece of wood in his fingers. When he didn’t speak, Tibbs did. Is something wrong?” he asked.
    “I told you once we could run our own business down here, not that I don’t appreciate your bringing this in to me. And your report on Mantoli’s body was satisfactory. And I’d better tell you—I arrested Mantoli’s murderer personally about an hour ago.”
    Tibbs audibly drew a quick breath. “Can you tell me—” he began.
    “Who he is?” Gillespie supplied.
    “... whether you got a confession?” Tibbs finished.
    “No, I didn’t. He protested, of course.” Gillespie stopped and picked up the deadly piece of wood once more. “But he did it. I know. He continued to examine the implement in his hands and then hefted it for weight. “What did this tell you, Virgil?” he asked.
    “It would be more accurate to say that it confirmed what I already knew, Chief Gillespie.”
    “Exactly what would that be?”
    “Who the murderer is,” Tibbs answered.
    Gillespie put the piece of wood back on his desk. “Hmm. Well, I beat you to it. And now if you want to see your friend Sam, you’ll find him in the first cell down the hall.”
    Virgil Tibbs looked at Gillespie with wonder and disbelief and then looked out the window a moment while he collected his thoughts. “Sam Wood?” he asked, as though the idea was beyond him.
    “That’s right,” Gillespie answered. “Sam Wood.” Tibbs sank silently into a chair before Gillespie’s desk. “Sir,” he said finally, with great care, “I know you won’t want to hear this, but I must tell you. Mr. Wood is definitely not guilty. You can see the implications toward your career if you don’t let him go.” He paused and looked very steadily at Gillespie with his deep-brown eyes. “You see, sir, I know it for a fact that you’ve got the wrong man.”

- 10 -

    As a boy Bill Gillespie had been, from the first, considerably bigger than his classmates and the other children with whom he associated. Because of this fact he could dictate the terms of the games that were played and impose his will on others who were not physically his equal. To his credit, Gillespie did not use his size to become a bully and he did not deliberately “pick on” those who might have wanted to disagree with him. But his automatic leadership deprived him of an early education in one of the most important accomplishments he could have had—diplomacy. He was aware of this and it bothered him occasionally.
    It bothered him mightily the night after he arrested Sam Wood on suspicion of murder. He thrashed about in his bed, turning from side to side and pounding the pillows, which remained completely docile but gave him not the slightest cooperation. He then got up and made himself some coffee. In his mind he kept reliving the scene in his office; no man had ever stood up to him as Sam Wood had and he admired him for it. Gillespie had won, of course, as he always won, but now plaguing doubts began to parade before him until they seemed to be forming ranks like a Roman phalanx. One large contributing factor was Virgil Tibbs s insistence that Sam Wood was innocent. Gillespie did not want to think much of the Negro investigator, as he had made completely clear, but he knew that the man from Pasadena had an impressive record of being right.
    Gillespie hoped, and nearly prayed, for one good, solid, concrete piece of evidence to back his judgment. He liked Sam Wood, apart from the fact that he didn’t think he was much of a cop, but he detested murderers, and Sam Wood, he was sure, was a murderer.
    Only Sam had denied the charge to the limit of his power and then Virgil Tibbs had backed him up. Gillespie went back to bed and slept the uneasy sleep of the guilty. He felt no better in the morning and went to his office wishing, for the first time, he had not accepted the appointment for a job he was not properly qualified to fill.
    He could feel the strain in the air as he walked through the lobby. Pete greeted him respectfully as always, but the words were as empty as blown eggshells. Gillespie sat down in a businesslike