In the Heat of the Night

ordered. Delores wiggled in her chair and tried her utmost to look the violated virgin. Instead she looked more like a carnival Kewpie-doll.
    "Well, he’s always coming past here at night, peeking in the windows,” Delores began. “I should of told my pa but I was kinda scared, him bein’ a cop and all that. Then one night when Pa was out he come by and knocked on the door. Said he was on his way to work. He was askin’ for names of girls who would like to be queen of the music festival. He said I was real cute and he wanted to put my name down for queen.”
    She stopped and looked up. Virgil nodded for her to go on.
    “Well, he sweet-talked quite a bit and said even though he worked nights, he still saw a lot of people and could get me enough votes so’s I’d win. Iffin I did, I’d win me a trip to New York. I don’t remember too much after that. He gave me a drink he said wouldn’t hurt me but would make me feel real good. He said I was the future queen and everybody would wish they was me. He said in New York I’d learn to sing and dance and maybe even be in the movies. He said he could make it all come true and that I oughta be real grateful to him… After that I don’t remember so much except when he went away he said for me not to worry because he had been careful. Them’s his words, he said he’d been careful.”
    Tibbs got to his feet. “You’re sure it was Sam?” he asked. “I just don’t want to make any mistakes that might hurt you.”
    Delores looked up, her face a mask. “It was Sam,” she said.
    Virgil Tibbs left the house and drove away. He went to the police station and put in a long-distance call to Gottschalk, the missile engineer. Then he paid a visit to Harvey Oberst, who hated to be seen with a Negro but who remembered that this particular Negro had gotten him out of jail. Then he called on the Reverend Amos Whiteburn and talked to two small boys who were produced for his benefit. After that he returned to the police station and phoned a hotel in Atlanta. All this done, he called on two Negro residents of Wells and four white residents, two of whom refused to receive him. He also paid a visit to Dr. Harding. When at last he was finished, he was weary almost to exhaustion. He had had very little sleep and he was tired of battling opposition that was no fault of his. But at least he had his reward. He was ready now to talk to Bill Gillespie.

- 12 -

    In the morning, after a bitter and restless night, Duena Mantoli arose to find that she had made up her mind. She took a long, refreshing shower. When she was through, she paused for a minute to look at herself in the glass. She knew that she was unusually pretty and she knew also that she worked hard to keep herself that way. Very well; physically she could at least match anything that wore skirts; the thing she must do now was to call upon another part of her heritage. It was time for her to use her brain.
    She dressed and went down to breakfast. George and Grace Endicott were waiting for her. “We’ve heard from Eric,” Grace told her as soon as she was seated, “and he has very good news. Two pieces of it. First of all, he’s managed to get a very prominent conductor to save the festival for us.”
    “Who is it?” Duena asked.
    “Eric wouldn’t say; he said he wanted to surprise us when he gets here. The other good news is that the agency handling the ticket sales reports we are doing much better than they had expected.”
    “I’m glad to hear that,” Duena said. She drank a glass of orange juice and then told them what was really on her mind. “You’re going to think I’m crazy when I tell you this, but I’m going down to the city today to see Mr. Schubert. I want to talk to him.”
    “What about?” Endicott asked.
    “I don’t like the way things are going. Something’s wrong. He’s got a man in jail I happen to think is innocent. I don’t understand why he hasn’t been released on bail or else brought up for indictment, whatever the legal procedure is.”
    Grace Endicott took over. “I wouldn’t, Duena. Frankly, neither you nor I are experts in these things and all we could do is get in the way of the people who are. It won’t help matters and it might even hinder them.”
    Duena poured herself more orange juice and drank it. “You don’t understand. Mr. Wood, the officer who was up here... that day... is in jail. He’s not guilty, I know it. Don’t ask me why now, but I know. That’s why I