When he finally went to bed, he felt that the evening had been very profitable, and he slept well.
A vestige of his sense of well-being remained in the morning; he planned a number of things he was going to do while he shaved and breakfasted. When he arrived at his office, Eric Kaufmann was waiting to see him. Gillespie received him and waved him to a chair. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
“I want to request a permit to carry a gun,” Kaufmann replied, coming right to the point.
“A gun? Why? Do you usually carry large sums of money?” Gillespie asked.
“I wish I were in a position to,” Kaufmann answered. “Maestro Mantoli often did and-but I’m not accustomed to.”
“Then why do you want to carry a gun?”
Kaufmann leaned forward. “I don’t want to cast any reflections on your department, Chief Gillespie, and please don’t take it that way, but there is a murderer loose in this area. He killed the Maestro. His daughter or I may be next. Until we know why the crime was committed, at least, I will feel a lot better with some protection.”
“You are planning to stay here for a while, then?”
“Yes, Mr. Endicott and the committee have asked me to carry on as administrator of the festival activities, at least until someone else can be chosen. Duena-that’s Miss Mantoli-is going to stay on until after the concerts as the house guest of the Endicotts. She really has no place else to go.”
“I thought she would be going back to Italy with her father’s body.”
“She’ll accompany the body to Italy but she’ll be back almost immediately. After all, she was born in this country. Mantoli was an American citizen even though all of his people still live in the old country.”
Gillespie was satisfied. “Mr. Kaufmann, have you ever been convicted of a criminal offense?”
Kaufmann reacted. “Certainly not. I’ve never been in any kind of trouble, not even any serious traffic tickets.”
Gillespie spoke into his intercom. “Arnold, will you please take Mr. Kaufmann’s application for a gun permit and make up his fingerprint card.”
“Thank you very much,” Kaufmann said. “Does that mean I may go and buy a gun now?”
“Technically no,” Gillespie replied. “The forms have to clear through channels first.”
“How long will that take?”
“Oh, a few days. However, if you feel yourself to be in any danger, though I am sure we can give you adequate protection here, go get a gun and bring it back here so we can register it. Then I will give you permission to carry it here in the city until your formal permit comes through. But if you go to Atlanta, or any place like that, please don’t take it with you.”
Kaufmann stood up. “You’ve been very kind,” he said.
“Not at all.” Gillespie rose, shook hands, and settled back in his chair as Kaufmann disappeared.
A moment later, Pete, the desk man, came in with the daily report. “Anything on it?” Gillespie asked.
Pete shook his head. “Hardly anything; nothing I can see that will help with the Mantoli case.” Pete hesitated for a minute. “Did you know that Sam Wood had company part of the time last night?”
Gillespie used his eyebrows for question marks.
“Virgil was with him,” Pete explained. “He walked in here a few minutes before midnight and asked to ride along. You had given orders that Virgil was to get cooperation, so Sam took him.”
“I bet Sam liked that,” Gillespie commented.
“I gather he didn’t particularly,” Pete replied. “I hear Sam came back in here about four and got rid of him. I hear Sam was mad.”
“Where is Virgil now?”
“I don’t rightly know. He borrowed a real-estate map of the city, one with all the details and distances on it, and then took off in that car you let him have.”
“When he checks in, tell him I want to see him,” Gillespie instructed.
“Yes, sir. By the way, there’s a letter in that pile on your desk we didn’t open. It’s marked ‘Very Personal.’ “
“Thanks.” Gillespie nodded his dismissal and fished for the letter in the neat pile that had been placed for him on his desk. When he found it, and saw it was in a plain envelope without return address, he knew what to expect. He tore the envelope open angrily and read, as rapidly as he could to get it over with, the single sheet that it contained:
Gillespie:
Maybe you have wondered why you got the job here when a lot better men who would have taken the job were turned down. It’s because you come from the South and we figured you were big enough to keep the niggers in their place. We don’t want integration, we want you to keep the damn niggers out of our schools and every other place the nigger lovers want them to get. We don’t want them neither in our police department. So get rid of that shine you got working for you and kick him out of town or else. If you don’t we’ll do it for you and we ain’t kidding. If you don’t we’ll run you out too and your not too big to be put in your place either. You have been warned.
The rage which Gillespie knew was his greatest problem surged up within him until it was difficult for him to control himself. He knew he should study the letter for a clue to the sender, but he also knew he would not find it. He crumpled the paper into a tight ball in his huge hand and flung it savagely into the wastebasket. They would put him in his place, would they! Devoutly he hoped they would try. He clenched his fists and held them up where he could look at them. No southern white trash was going to tell a Texan what to do. And whether they liked it or not, he was chief of police and they weren’t going to take that away from him. He had not calmed down when the intercom came on.
“Well?” Gillespie demanded.
“Virgil just phoned in to ask what garage took care of our official cars. I told him you wanted to see him. He’s coming right in.”
The chief’s first reaction was rage at the Negro detective who had put him in this position. Then his mood weather-vaned in a new direction. He had been ordered to get rid of Tibbs. Simply because of that, he resolved to keep him around as long as it pleased him to do so.
He was still framing countermeasures in his mind when there was a tap on his door. He looked up to see the cause of his trouble standing respectfully in the doorway. “You wished to see me, sir?” Tibbs asked.
Gillespie made a conscious effort to speak without strain showing in his voice, and to control his temper.
“Yes, Virgil. I’ve been wondering when you were going to give me a report on your examination of Mantoli’s body.”
Tibbs’s usually expressionless face lit up with distinct surprise. “I gave it to Mr. Arnold two days ago; I thought you had it.”
Gillespie covered. “It’s probably here on my desk, then. Also I wanted to ask you why you went riding with Sam-I mean Mr. Wood-last night.”
“Because I want to know exactly where he was prior to the time he discovered the body. Which streets he drove and when.”
“Oh? You considered that important?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“I see. And did you find out everything you wanted to know?”
“Very nearly. I think I got the rest of it this morning.”
“Virgil, I understand Sam dropped you off here last night and that he was sore when he did it. What did you do that upset Mr. Wood? He’s a pretty reasonable man ordinarily.”
Tibbs hesitated and locked his fingers together before he replied. “Mr. Wood and I got on very well, though at one point he misled me a little, and when I commented on it he dropped me off here without ceremony.”