Free In the Heat of the Night by John Ball Page B

wrong; I don’t want to join no chain gang.”
    Tibbs nodded.
    “Anyhow, she asks me if I don’t think she’s got a nice figure, and when I say yes, she decides to show me.”
    “It was her idea?” Tibbs asked.
    “Like you said, her idea. I didn’t mess her up or anything like that; I just didn’t try to stop her.”
    “Not too many people would blame you for that, but it was pretty dangerous.”
    “Maybe so. Anyhow, she gets half undressed and right then a cop comes out of the bushes. I get hauled in.”
    “How about the girl?”
    “She got sent home.”
    “What happened after that?”
    “After a while they let me go, told me never to mess around with that girl anymore.”
    “Have you seen her since?”
    “Sure, she lives on Third Street at the corner of Polk. I live half a block from there. I see her all the time. She wants another date.”
    “That’s all that happened?”
    “Nothin’ else, so help me.”
    Tibbs got to his feet, took hold of the bars of the cell and swung his weight backward so as to pull at the cramped muscles of his arms. Then he walked back and sat down again.
    “Do you shave every day?” he asked.
    Surprised, Oberst felt his chin. “Usually I do. I didn’t this morning; I been up all night.”
    “How come?”
    “I went up to Canville to see a guy I know there. We … had a couple of dates.”
    “Then you got back here pretty late?”
    “Sometime around two, maybe later. That’s when I found the guy in the road.”
    “Exactly what did you do? Don’t tell me what you think I want to hear; just tell me what really happened.”
    “Well, this here guy was lying on his face on the road. I stopped to see if I could help him. But he was dead.”
    “How did you know?”
    “Well, I just knew, that’s all.”
    “Go on.”
    “Well, I seen his wallet lying on the road, maybe four or five feet from him.”
    Virgil Tibbs leaned forward. “That’s very important,” he emphasized. “I don’t care whether you found the wallet or whether you took it out of his pocket, it makes no difference. But are you absolutely sure you found it on the road beside him?”
    “I swear I did,” Oberst answered.
    “Then you did,” Tibbs conceded. “What happened after that?”
    “I picked it up and looked quick inside. I seen a lot of money. I figured he couldn’t use it anymore, and if I left it there, whoever came along next would grab it.”
    “That’s probably right,” Tibbs agreed. “Now how did you get caught with it on you?”
    “Well, I got worried about it on account of the guy had been killed. If anybody found me with the wallet, I could be in awful bad trouble. So I went to see Mr. Jennings. He’s head man at the bank and I know him because I work for him weekends. I told him about it. He said it would have to be reported and he called the cops. So I got stuck in here anyway. Now I don’t know what I’ll get.”
    Tibbs got to his feet. “Leave it to me,” he advised. “If your story holds up, you’re all right.” He called loudly enough to be heard and waited for Arnold to come and let him out.
    Shortly thereafter Tibbs went to the weather bureau and checked the rainfall records for the last month.
    Bill Gillespie looked up from his desk to see his new assistant from Pasadena standing in the doorway. He did not want to see Virgil Tibbs; he did not want to see anybody. He wanted to go home, wash up, get something to eat, and go to bed. It was late in the working day and he had been on duty since the very early hours of the morning.
    “Well, what is it?” he demanded.
    Tibbs walked in a short way, but did not sit down. “Since you put me in charge of the investigation of Mantoli’s death, Chief Gillespie, I’d like to ask you to release Harvey Oberst.”
    “Why?” Gillespie made the question a challenge.
    “He’s not guilty of the murder, I’m sure of that, and for more reasons than I gave you this morning. Technically you could hold him for grand theft for