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

Sam knew it wasn’t good, but he had started now, and couldn’t retreat.
    “Yes, we know Maestro Mantoli very well. I hope he is not in any trouble?”
    Sam reached up and removed his uniform cap, ashamed that he had forgotten to do so until now. “Yes and no, Mr. Endicott.” Sam flushed. There was nothing for it now but to state the facts. “I’m very sorry to have to tell you … that he has been killed.”
    Endicott rested his hand for a moment on the back of a chair and then sank into it, his eyes focused far away. “Enrico dead. I can’t believe it.” Sam stood awkwardly still and waited for Endicott to recover himself.
    “This is dreadful, Officer,” Endicott said finally. “He was our close and dear friend; his daughter is a guest here now. I …” Sam cursed the day he had left his job at the garage to become a police officer. Then Endicott turned to him. “How did the accident happen?” he asked very quietly.
    This time Sam found better words. “Unfortunately, sir, it was not an accident. Mr. Mantoli was attacked early this morning in the downtown area. We don’t know yet by whom or how. I found his body around four this morning.” Sam wanted to say something else. “I’m terribly sorry to have to bring you this news,” he added, hoping that the words would somehow help to lessen the shock to the man who sat before him.
    “You mean,” Endicott said very carefully, “he was murdered.”
    Sam nodded, grateful that he didn’t have to put it into words.
    Endicott rose. “I had better tell my wife,” he said. To Sam it seemed as if the man had suddenly grown tired, not the weariness of a single day, but the kind of fatigue that sinks into the bones and remains there like a disease.
    “Sit down, please,” Endicott asked, and walked slowly out of the beautifully appointed room. Sam could feel the emptiness in the air when he had gone.
    Sam let himself down until he was perched on the front six inches of one of the deep, comfortable chairs. In that position he was half sitting, half squatting, but the posture suited his mood. He tried to put out of his mind the scene that would be taking place in another part of the house. He looked hard through the glass wall at the spectacular view, which had about it a suggestion of eternity.
    Endicott came back into the room. “Is there something specific I can do to help?” he asked.
    Sam pulled himself to his feet. “Yes, sir. I—that is, we understood that Mr. Mantoli’s daughter was staying here. We thought she ought to be notified. Later, when she feels able to, we would like to have her come down and formally identify the body.”
    Endicott hesitated a moment. “Miss Mantoli is here; she is still resting. We were all up very late last night making final plans for the music festival.” He passed his hand across his forehead. “When Miss Mantoli wakes up, my wife will break the news to her. Meanwhile, is there any reason why I can’t make the identification? I would like to spare her that if I could.”
    “I’m sure you can do that,” Sam answered. He tried to speak sympathetically, but he could not seem to shape the sounds as he wanted them to come out. “If you would like, you can come down with me now. An officer will bring you back.”
    “All right,” Endicott said. “Let me tell my wife and I’ll be right with you.”
    As he drove back down the winding road, with Endicott by his side, Sam kept his eyes on the road and measured every movement of the controls to keep the car in steady, even motion. He was still driving with extra care when he pulled up in front of the police entrance of the municipal building and discharged his passenger. Then he followed a step behind as the older man climbed the steps that led up to the lobby and the desk.
    Sam had planned to bow out at that point and ask permission to go home. When Endicott turned to follow Arnold to the morgue, he changed his mind and walked beside the older man in the hope that by