Yumeko continued to look at him. "You did not expect?" she asked.
"Of course not. I asked you out for your company and that's all."
"But you know what I am!"
That settled it; he felt sure that he knew what was eating her, but he had tried to dismiss it. Now it was there in front of him and he would have to deal with it.
"Yumeko," he said, "I want you to come over here and sit beside me."
Calmly, and without emotion, she obeyed.
When she had settled herself against him, and he could feel both the warmth and the tightness of her body, he laid his arm across her shoulders and waited a few seconds until he could feel the first indication of relaxation-of her acceptance of the situation.
"Now I'm going to lecture to you and I want you to listen," he said. "Don't mterrupt me until I'm through- do you understand?"
She nodded her head, which seemed suddenly small beside his shoulder.
"My ancestors, whoever they were, came to this country from Africa some time ago. Not as you came, they were slaves; they were bought and sold like cattle, worked like hell in most cases, and were often raped. Then the country came a little farther up the road and that was done away with. After that all we had to do was to try and prove that we were human beings who were capable of doing normal things and that our color didn't run off onto everything that we touched. You ought to know all this, because half of your background is the same as mine."
He took a little more of his drink. "It isn't all over yet, of course, but if we can keep the militants from making us
hated everywhere we show our faces, it's getting better every day. The job I have, the fact that it was given to me, means something and you ought to know that."
He took a deep breath. "For centuries humanity has been living in little pockets all over the world; people kept to themselves because travel was difficult, or all but impossible. Nobody from here went to Japan, for example, for quite a long while."
"It was not allowed," Yumeko said.
"I know, that's part of it. Then came the airplane and later the jet engine. That changed everything; now you, or anyone else, can go to almost any part of the world in a matter of hours. People are meeting each other, mixing as they never did before."
He felt her go tight again. *T know this-I understand. But that does not help me. I am what I became and I cannot be anything else. And everyone knows."
He did not mean to, but he tightened his arm across her shoulder until she was almost in pain. "Yumeko, dammit, don't be so stubborn! Try to understand. A century ago- that's one hundred years-anyone like you would have been very strange, but it isn't true anymore. A century ago I couldn't have been what I am now; people would have thought me some kind of an animal that could be trained to do certain tricks, like shining shoes."
"But at least you were one kind of animal!"
Tibbs controlled himself and regained his self possession. "And so are you," he answered, "whether you know it or not. You're all human, all girl. I know you're a hybrid; so is all the best com-they raise it that way." He turned her around until she had to look at him. "How many people alive today, do you think, have absolutely pure blood of one kind or another? Not that many. And they're not the lucky ones, because when you start mixing strains you get a better product most of the time. In horses, in plants, and in human beings too."
He took hold of both her shoulders and his fingers almost dug into her flesh. "You're lucky as all hell and you don't know it. The chances of any one person being bom are billions to one against. The odds are dreadful even with the same set of parents. You beat all those odds and against a fearful handicap. Just remember that it took a miracle to make you alive, but here you are. Now enjoy it!"
He let her go and got to his feet. "I think I'd better take 62
you back now," he concluded. "Tomorrow is going to be a tough day and I have a murderer to catch."
He took her to her door. As he stood one step down to bid her good-night their heads were on a level. As he looked at her then he thought that she was damned attractive and she ought to know it. But he left it at that. She was stUl right in the middle of his investigation and his promise to himself that he was going to use part of the evening to get some further information out of her lay shattered.
"Keep your door locked," he advised her, "and don't let anybody in unless you know who they are. Even then be careful."
On that stem note he turned his back and left. There had been murder done in that house and untU he knew why and how, the shadow would hang dark and heavy over it and the girl who had just gone inside. Disturbed in his mind for many reasons, and with his self-confidence definitely shaken, he went back to his car.
CHAPTER 8
When he checked in for work the following morning, Virgil Tibbs did not choose to remain in his office for very long. He had many things to do, in addition to which he did not welcome the idea that someone might drop in to ask him how he had enjoyed his date with one of his ranking suspects on the previous evening. News got around the Pasadena Police Department much as it did everywhere else; if anyone at all had seen him while he had had Yumeko in tow, everyone would know about it as a matter of course.
Fortunately no one came in to raise the issue; he was therefore able to dispose of a small pile of urgent paper work. Then he picked up his phone and rang the morgue.
He was advised that the report on the late Mr. Wang was ready; furthermore the pathologist who had performed the autopsy was on hand in case there were any questions.
Virgil did not particularly care for the morgue, but his duty took him to it often enough that the place was no novelty. When he got there he sat down in a small room with a tall, unconcerned young doctor who had probed the internal organs of the deceased. On the small, plain table which stood in the center of the room there was a carefully written document which told of the cause of death of the Chinese jade merchant and, almost conspicuously out of place, the antique stone implement which had been thrust into his chest
"I'd like to know something," the doctor said as he lit a cigarette. "How did you arrive at the opinion that the deceased had sustained injuries before he was stabbed?'*
"By some external evidence. What did you find?"
"He had been roughed up prior to his demise. He was throttled for one thing, but not enough to leave evident marks that were readily visible. He was also struck on the jaw and on the left temple."
"Did this physical abuse cause his death?"
"I won't attempt to answer that until we complete some more tests-the present report is preliminary."
"Is it possible that the blows could have produced unconsciousness?"
"Oh, yes."
"Sustained?"
"I'd say so. Remember that the deceased was an old man and in general terms probably in frail health. Nothing radically wrong with him that we've discovered so far, but he obviously didn't take much exercise and didn't have a lot of reserves to draw on."
"One more thing: how much force did it take to drive the stone knife into the body?"
"A moderate amount; I can't define it exactly unless you want me to take the weapon and make some cadaver tests. I could do that."
Virgil shook his head. "I don't think we'll need that if what I have in mind works out. One more question: was he initially attacked from in front or behind?"
"Behind. It's in the report."
'Thanks much." Tibbs got to his feet. "I thought that he was. I appreciate your time."
"Not at all. If you want the weapon, you know the routine for signing it out."