In the Heat of the Night by John Ball Read Free Book Online

for a black boy like you. What do they call you around home where you come from?”
    “They call me Mr. Tibbs,” Virgil answered.
    Sam Wood drove slowly as he guided his patrol car up the road that led to the Endicott place. Although the sun was blazing down now, the intense heat seemed more bearable, largely because he expected the days to be hot. The thing that bothered him was the hot nights, for somehow the darkness and the setting of the sun ought to bring relief. When they didn’t, the discomfort seemed twice as great.
    The road climbed steadily. The main section of Wells was now several hundred feet below and there was still a distance to go to reach the very top of the hill where the Endicotts had their home. Sam knew where it was, as did nearly everyone in Wells, since the Endicotts were known to have money, but he had never met them or been to their home. As he drove he tried to form in his mind the sentences that he would use in breaking the news. It would not be easy. Somehow he imagined that Mantoli’s daughter, the Endicotts’ house guest, did not have a mother. Now she would be all alone in the world—unless, of course, she had a husband. Probably she did, he decided; Italian girls married early, had too many kids, and got fat.
    The road leveled off at the top of the hill, ending at a small parking lot which Sam quickly estimated would hold six or eight cars. He parked carefully and closed the door quietly as he stepped to the ground. The sun seemed brighter up here, but the air, he thought, was not quite as hot. It was a magnificent location; despite the seriousness of his errand, Sam could not help being moved by the sweeping panoramic view of the Great Smokies. Long rows of serrated mountains lifted their peaks all the way to the distant horizon. Sam walked toward the front door, which opened for him before he had an opportunity to ring.
    He was received by a woman who waited, with an air of both hospitality and restraint, for him to state his business. Sam liked her immediately. She was well into her fifties, but the years which she had lived had treated her with great respect. In a quiet, tasteful linen dress, her body was molded into the same contours that had been attractive thirty years before. Her face was unwrinkled, her hair was beautifully cut and shaped. She waited while Sam took the last steps to reach the doorstep.
    “Mrs. Endicott?” he asked, suddenly conscious that his chin would be rough with an eighteen-hour growth of beard.
    “Yes, Officer, what can I do for you?”
    Sam made a fast decision. “May I see Mr. Endicott, please?”
    Grace Endicott stepped back and held the door open. “Come in,” she invited. “I’ll get him for you.”
    Sam walked in, conscious of being out of his element. He followed his hostess into a long, bright living room, the left wall of which was almost entirely glass. The opposite wall was covered with long shelves that reached from floor to ceiling and held the largest collection of books and record albums that Sam had ever seen.
    “Sit down, won’t you, please,” Mrs. Endicott invited, and then walked quickly from the room. Sam looked about him at the big, comfortable-looking chairs and decided to remain on his feet. He told himself that it would all be over in ten minutes, maybe even less, and then he could get back into his car and drive down into town once more.
    Sam turned as his host walked into the room. Endicott showed his age more than did his wife, but he carried his years with a calm dignity. He belonged in his house, and the house in turn specifically belonged to him. They fitted each other as certain captains fit the ships which they command. While Sam waited for the man to speak, he wished for a moment that his position was such that he could have these people for his friends. Then he remembered what he had to do.
    “I believe you wished to see me.” Endicott made it an invitation.
    “Yes, sir. I believe you know a Mr. Mantoli?”