She dressed and went down to breakfast. George and Grace Endicott were waiting for her. “We’ve heard from Eric,” Grace told her as soon as she was seated, “and he has very good news. Two pieces of it. First of all, he’s managed to get a very prominent conductor to save the festival for us.”
“Who is it?” Duena asked.
“Eric wouldn’t say; he said he wanted to surprise us when he gets here. The other good news is that the agency handling the ticket sales reports we are doing much better than they had expected.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Duena said. She drank a glass of orange juice and then told them what was really on her mind. “You’re going to think I’m crazy when I tell you this, but I’m going down to the city today to see Mr. Schubert. I want to talk to him.”
“What about?” Endicott asked.
“I don’t like the way things are going. Something’s wrong. He’s got a man in jail I happen to think is innocent. I don’t understand why he hasn’t been released on bail or else brought up for indictment, whatever the legal procedure is.”
Grace Endicott took over. “I wouldn’t, Duena. Frankly, neither you nor I are experts in these things and all we could do is get in the way of the people who are. It won’t help matters and it might even hinder them.”
Duena poured herself more orange juice and drank it. “You don’t understand. Mr. Wood, the officer who was up here … that day … is in jail. He’s not guilty, I know it. Don’t ask me why now, but I know. That’s why I want to see the mayor.”
George Endicott picked his words carefully. “Duena, I think you’re getting emotionally involved. Sit tight and let the men handle it. If Wood is innocent, he won’t be in jail very long. And then there’s Tibbs; he impresses me as competent.”
“That won’t help him much here,” Duena retorted. Then she changed her tack. “Oh, well. Are you going down today?”
“Yes, this afternoon.”
“Then may I come along for the ride? Maybe I can at least do some shopping.”
Endicott nodded his consent to that.
Frank Schubert adjusted his posture in his chair, conscious of the challenging femininity of his visitor. He wondered how she had talked George Endicott into bringing her here, but it was evident that she had.
“Miss Mantoli,” he began, “I’m going to be very truthful with you; in fact I’m going to give you some confidential information. Will you promise me to keep it strictly to yourself?”
“I promise,” Duena said.
“All right. I don’t know how much you know about the economy of the South, but certain areas have been very hard hit. Wells is one of them. We aren’t on the main highway, only on an alternate route that perhaps one car in fifty chooses to take. That means that we lose a lot of tourist revenue. Agriculture is on the decline in this vicinity, industry so far has refused to move here, and putting it bluntly, both the city itself and many of the people in it are close to being on the rocks.”
Duena, who was listening carefully, nodded.
“We realized-the council members and myself-that something would have to be done about it or we would be in a very serious situation. So George here came up with the music-festival idea. It didn’t go over too well at first, but he convinced us that it would put us on the tourist map. If that were to happen, it would be a tremendous help. So, with some misgivings, we went ahead. I understand now that ticket sales are very good, so George appears to have proved his point.
“Now this brings up another matter, one that concerns you directly-or indirectly. The job of police chief came open and we had to fill it. None of the men on the force were anywhere near to being ready to step into the job. So we had an idea. We thought that if we advertised the opening, we might attract a good lawman who would take the job even at a very small salary, for the sake of the title and the experience. Then, when we got on our feet, we could raise his salary enough to keep him or else hire a replacement if we wanted to.
“Well, it worked out that our thinking, as far as it went, was correct. We had several applicants willing to work for the salary for the sake of the career advancement it would represent. One of them was Bill Gillespie. Certain members of the council-and I’m mentioning no names-insisted on a southerner, who would at least do all he could to maintain our traditional race relationships. Someone from the North might shove integration down our throats long before we were ready to accept it and, if possible, make it work.”
“So you hired Gillespie,” Duena said.
“We did. His record looked very good, as much as we could hope for for what we had to offer. Personally, I will tell you in strict confidence that I consider we made a bad choice, but at least the certain council members I spoke of a moment ago were satisfied.”
Schubert looked about him as if to make sure that no one else was within earshot. Then he leaned forward to make his words more confidential. “If he has the wrong man in jail, he will be out before very long, I’ll promise you that. But you must understand there is strong evidence against him. Now I have talked to some of the council members, and I’m telling George here now that if Gillespie doesn’t get this thing straightened out in the next few days, we’re going to recall him. He’s under contract, but there’s a trial period and it isn’t over yet. So don’t worry, we’ll handle that end.”
It was a few minutes before four when George Endicott and Duena Mantoli left the mayor’s office. They had received word that Eric Kaufmann was coming by early in the evening. When George Endicott had suggested staying down for a quiet supper and then picking up Kaufmann afterward, Duena had had her chance. It was still too early to eat but she had another idea. “I have to see Mr. Tibbs,” she explained.
“I think you had better postpone that,” Endicott advised. “If you went over there now you might make an inadvertent slip and that could be serious.”
Duena looked up at him with an expression which combined disappointment and reproach; George Endicott suddenly decided that perhaps in his capacity as councilman he ought to exchange a few words with Bill Gillespie.
Arnold spoke through the bars to Sam Wood. “You’ve got another visitor.” He swung open the door to admit Virgil Tibbs. The Pasadena detective walked in without an invitation and sat down on the edge of the hard bunk.
“Well, Virgil,” Sam asked wearily, “what is it now?”
“I just wanted to tell you,” Tibbs replied, “that I’m going in to see Gillespie as soon as he gets back here. When I do, I’m going to prove to him, so that even he can see it, that you’re innocent. I think I can make him let you go.”
Sam spoke without inflection. “Why don’t you just give up and go home. I thought you were smart.”
“I haven’t finished my job,” Virgil answered. “The world is full of a lot of people who never accomplished anything because they wouldn’t see it through. I have two things left to do here: to get you cleared and out of here, and to deliver a murderer to Gillespie. Then I can go home.”
“I wish you luck,” Sam said. He didn’t look at Virgil as he spoke.
“Before I go in to see Gillespie, I want to clear up a point or two with you,” Tibbs said. “I’m pretty sure I know the answers, but the less I have to guess, the stronger my case is going to be.”
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “What’s on your mind?” he asked.
“On the night that we rode together on patrol, you made a slight change of route and you made it on purpose. At the time I didn’t know why. I think I do now. You wanted to avoid going past the Purdy house, is that right?”