He got back rapidly to the logic of the case. “Isn’t it true that everyone who is a nudist had to start sometime?” he asked. “Certainly not everyone who comes here now began as a little child.”
“That’s right,” Emily agreed. “Only a small percentage of today’s nudists grew up in the movement.”
“Then isn’t it possible that our unknown man was about to become a nudist-or had been one for, say, a day or two?”
Linda drew a breath quickly. “I can answer the second part. He hadn’t been a nudist at all-at least not this summer-or it would show. Of course, he could have been at a park somewhere on a dark and gloomy day, but it’s very unlikely. And even one day in the sun would have tanned him a little. He was too white for that.”
“How about an overcast day, but one that was still pleasant?” Tibbs asked. “There are lots of those.” He looked at his dark fingers. “I’m at a slight disadvantage here,” he admitted.
Forrest understood at once and took over. “A person with a very fair skin, such as he had, can be severely sunburned even on a cloudy day. Every experienced nudist knows this. It happens to newcomers all the time, even though we warn them.”
“Dad’s right,” George added, nodding his head.
Tibbs went on, “Then he wasn’t a nudist, at least not recently. But is there any reason why he might not have been planning to become one? He liked the out-of-doors or he wouldn’t have had so deep a suntan.”
“That’s a definite possibility,” George said. “Unfortunately, so far only a small percentage of people have decided to become nudists, but the number is steadily going up. He was a better class individual, I think, and that increases the possibility since that’s the kind we usually attract.”
Tibbs looked questioningly at Forrest, who nodded his head. “That’s a proven fact,” he added. “Though some people might doubt it.”
“Then he could have been on his way here when he was killed. It’s even possible that he had arrived and was ambushed before he could announce himself.”
“I don’t think so,” Carole answered.
Emily turned toward her younger daughter, smiled, and then placed a finger across her lips to indicate that she should remain quiet.
Tibbs looked down at the little girl, on his left. “Why not, Carole?” he asked.
“Because he didn’t have a reservation. If he was a smart man, wherever he was going he would have a reservation.” She ended on a note of righteous indignation; she did not like to be shushed when she had an idea.
Tibbs pressed his palm against his forehead. “I’m ashamed of myself,” he said. “I never thought of that. Because of his suntan marks and the lack of any fingerprint record in this country, I was pretty sure he had come from abroad, but I couldn’t check the airline records because I didn’t have anything to go on. The reservation angle I completely missed.”
“Did I help?” Carole asked.
“Indeed you did. You are wonderful-what can I do for you?”
Because she had been thinking much about the dark detective since he had first appeared, Carole was ready immediately with her answer. “I want to ride in a police car,” she announced. “With the siren going.”
Tibbs smiled and got quickly to his feet. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “Thank heaven there’s work to be done. Thank you for my lunch-I seldom have one so good. Thanks also for the cooperation. You especially, Carole, and I won’t forget what you asked.”
“I’m jealous,” Linda said, smiling to show that she didn’t mean it.
Tibbs looked at her, somewhat more accustomed now to her lack of clothing. “You’ll never need to be jealous of anyone,” he declared without emphasis. He put his coat over his arm and left.
Linda watched him as he retreated across the lawn toward his car, “You know,” she said, “he’s quite a man.”
“I like him,” Forrest answered. “He’s a gentleman and a very intelligent one.”
“The girl who gets him will be pretty lucky,” Linda mused.
Her mother gave her a quick, surprised glance that had in it a touch of concern. Although Linda was not looking at her, the girl read the reaction and understood it. “I assume he would prefer a Negro girl, but they want good men, too, don’t they?”
Emily Nunn relaxed the touch of tension that had appeared on her face. “I’m certain of it,” she agreed.
chapter 7
When Virgil Tibbs walked into his office at close to three in the afternoon, Bob Nakamura took one look at the face of his Negro associate and knew that he had got his teeth into something. “Identify the body?” he asked.
“No,” Virgil answered shortly. “But I have got an angle to try, and it might work. Are you busy?”
Bob leaned back, clasped his hands behind his head, and beamed. “Shoot,” he invited.
“I want to trace down all the likely places where a man arriving from overseas within the past week or ten days might have had a reservation and didn’t pick it up. Or where he did check in and then disappeared. The first is the best bet, because if he had walked out and left his luggage or his bill behind him, we’d hear of it.”
“Nice idea,” Bob agreed. “But it’s worse than doing the pawnshops-just too many places around here that take reservations. How many hotels and motels do you think there are in Los Angeles alone?”
“I know,” Tibbs answered, “but there is an end to it somewhere, particularly when you cut out the second- and third-class spots.”
“Are you going to do just L.A. or all the rest of the basin?”
Tibbs dropped into his chair, letting his weight fall. “I’m going to go the whole route and ask for the cooperation of all of the law-enforcement agencies between here and Palmdale. Ask them to check every likely spot where a well-to-do man might make a reservation. I’ll start myself with the big places, like the Beverly Hilton, that a stranger might pick out of a travel guide or an agency might line up. But I don’t know that he was a stranger; he might have had a favorite spot he always used. If I read him right, that’s a good chance, too.”
“Needle in a haystack,” Bob commented agreeably.
“I know it, but at least there’s only one haystack. Want to help?”
The benign look left Bob’s face. “Let’s get going,” he said.
Despite the warmth of early summer, the air in the San Bernardino Mountains had a touch of crispness and the subtle scent of many growing plants that had found a home above five thousand feet. Here on the rolling plateau behind the first range of the mountains time moved with less urgency. The roads were more casual and wound their way with dignity, satisfied to handle light traffic at thirty miles an hour. The frantic drive of the ramrod freeways did not exist here; the buildings scattered among the trees were principally cottages with occasional small establishments suited to the more leisurely life of a semirural vacation area. Yet in spite of the outward appearance of a calmer world, the whole area was laced with modern communications, power-distribution lines, and occasional special facilities for defense and air-traffic control.
A pleasant thing about driving on one of the roads through this lightly wooded, lightly settled area was the fact that the birds could be heard singing. The rush of the wind was absent, and the sounds of nature could penetrate even into the hostile atmosphere of an automobile. Officer Richard Mooney noted all this and enjoyed it. He was an impressive figure in his California Highway Patrol uniform, which radiated authority. The official car he was driving ran beautifully and seemed, like him, to be responding to the perfect day. Though his uniform was a little warm and his feet in particular were uncomfortable from the tight embrace of too much leather, he was relaxed and contented.
He was on a routine checkup that involved no problems. He was in love with his job, and although the pay was less than it should have been, he was human enough to enjoy the aura of authority and the sense of being a member of an élite group that the job gave him. He was a friendly man, but he maintained a careful distance between himself and others so that his position as part of the long arm of the law would not be compromised.