In the Heat of the Night

happened. Ralph, coming up the street in his car, saw and recognized the Maestro; his appearance was very distinctive, at least in this city. Here, Ralph thought, was opportunity. He offered the Maestro a ride and Mr. Mantoli accepted.
    “When I was first told the murder weapon had been found at the edge of the music bowl, I assumed that helped to implicate Mr. Kaufmann. I was totally wrong. Ralph said he had not seen the bowl and Maestro Mantoli offered to show it to him. He wanted to see it again himself, for that very evening plans for the festival had been settled.
    “They drove to the bowl—Maestro Mantoli for the reasons I just stated, Ralph to rob him of enough money to solve his crisis. They got out at the edge of the bowl and stood looking over the setting. The spectators—or auditors is probably the word—will have to sit on logs for the first season at least. The last rows had just been put down and trimmings were scattered all about. Ralph picked up a piece of wood, and tried to think of the best way to use it. Then he had the wild idea that he would stun the Maestro and later claim that they had both been jumped from behind by persons unknown.
    When he delivered the fatal blow, he intended it to be much less.”
    “Then it was... partly an accident?” Duena asked.
    “Yes, assault with a deadly weapon and manslaughter, but not first-degree murder.”
    “I’m almost glad,” the girl said quietly.
    “When the Maestro slumped to the ground, unconscious, Ralph panicked. His first impulse was an honorable one, to get the man he had just injured to a doctor. He was in a cold sweat now, and terribly afraid. He carried the Maestro the few steps to his car, put him inside, and drove back to town. As he neared the center of the city he finally realized what he had done. He stopped on a side street, took out his victim’s wallet, removed enough money to solve his first problem, and then left the body in the middle of the highway, with the wallet nearby. Then he drove quickly to the diner and reported late for work, which he regularly did two or three times a week.”
    “But why in the middle of the highway?” Grace Endicott asked, wide-eyed.
    “He believed a hit-and-run driver would be blamed. That was a major clue, of course, the location of the body, but I didn’t see the point for some time.”
    “And the temperature?” George Endicott added. “Oh, yes, that did two things for Ralph: first it kept down the traffic to almost nothing and delayed the discovery of the body.”
    “Wait a minute,” Frank Schubert interrupted. “How about that engineer who drove through?”
    “While he was here no one asked him the exact time he had passed through the city. Ralph said it was forty- five minutes before Sam found the body, a statement Gottschalk didn’t question because he didn’t know when the body was found. He came through while Ralph was robbing his victim. Ralph noticed the unusual car and when the man stopped at the diner on his return trip, Ralph called the police department, hoping that Gottschalk would be arrested for hit-and-run.
    Grace Endicott shook her head. “What a dreadfully warped mind that boy must have. I can’t conceive of it. He’s like an animal.”
    “The rest about the hot night,” Gillespie prompted.
    “Oh, yes, the unusual temperature gave Ralph a totally unexpected alibi. When the intern who came with the ambulance fixed the time of death, he did so in the usual manner, by estimating how much body heat had been lost. But he failed to allow for the unusual temperature and therefore was considerably off on his estimate. The hot night had literally kept the body warm. It wasn’t until that major objection could be overcome, Ralph’s apparent alibi, that I could be sure he was the man.”
    Tibbs looked suddenly very weary. “That’s about all,” he concluded. “I came into his diner and asked for a glass of milk. If I had said ‘carton’ he might have given it to me. The idea of my using a glass disturbed him and when I made a scene about being allowed to eat there, he was aroused to the point where he put hands on me. Then I was able to grab him; I shouldn’t have done it that way, but I wanted the satisfaction. He so clearly despised me because of my ancestry, and considered himself so totally superior, I wanted to teach him a very important lesson. It was childish, I admit.”

    Bill Gillespie drove Virgil Tibbs to the railroad station. After he parked the