In the Heat of the Night by John Ball

picked up the instrument. “Gillespie,” he acknowledged tersely.
    "This is Frank Schubert, Bill.”
    “Yes, Frank.” The chief made an effort to sound confident and cordial. Frank Schubert ran a hardware store and owned two gas stations. He was also the mayor of Wells and the chairman of the small committee which ran the city’s affairs.
    “Bill, George Endicott just left my office.”
    “Yes,” Gillespie almost shouted, and resolved to keep his Voice under better control.
    “It was about this colored detective that one of your boys spaded up. He wanted me to call Pasadena and ask if we could borrow him for a few days. George is terribly upset about Mantoli’s death, you know.”
    “I know that, too,” Gillespie cut in. He felt he was being treated like a child.
    “We got through immediately to Chief Morris in Pasadena,” Schubert went on. “He gave us his OK.” Gillespie gulped a deep breath. “Frank, I appreciate your effort very much, but I just got rid of that guy and frankly, I don’t want him back. I have good people here and I’m not inexperienced myself. Excuse my saying this to you, but Endicott is a meddler.”
    “I know he is,” Schubert agreed, “and he comes from up North, where they think differently than we do. But I think you’re overlooking something.”
    “What’s that?” Gillespie asked.
    “The fact that this gives you a perfect out. Endicott wants us to use his black friend. OK, go ahead and do it. Suppose he finds the man you want? He has no police power here, so he will have to hand the whole thing over to you. But if he fails, that lets you completely off the hook. And everybody in town will be with you; the whole blame goes to him. Either way you win. If you don’t use him and for any reason fail to nail your murderer in fairly short order, Endicott will be out for your scalp, and he’s got more dough than anybody else in this town.”
    Gillespie chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “I just kicked him out of here,” he said.
    “You better get him back,” Schubert warned. “He’s your alibi. Be nice to him and let him hang himself. If anybody blames you, say that you did it on my orders.” Gillespie knew then that he was hooked. “All right,” he said in an unwilling voice, and hung up. He got up quickly, reminding himself that he didn’t know the first thing about the procedure in catching a murderer and that Virgil Tibbs was the unwitting alibi that would lift the whole responsibility from his shoulders. By the time he jackknifed himself into his car, he had decided that it would be good to give Tibbs the rope with which to hang himself.
    Two blocks from the station he found his man. Tibbs had paused for a moment to switch his suitcase from one hand to the other as Gillespie slid his car up. to the curb. “Virgil, get in, I want to talk to you,” he said.
    As the young Negro moved to obey, Gillespie had a sudden revolting thought. Tibbs had been walking and carrying a heavy bag for some blocks in the hot sun. That meant he would be sweating and Gillespie hated the odor he associated with black men. He reached around and quickly rolled down the rear window behind him. As soon as that was done, he motioned Tibbs to come in the front seat. “Put your bag in back,” he instructed. Tibbs did as directed, climbed into the car, and sat down. To Gillespie’s intense relief, he didn’t smell.
    Gillespie started the car and moved out into traffic. “Virgil,” he began, “I was a little rough on you this morning.” It occurred to him to stop right there and he did.
    Tibbs said nothing.
    “Your friend Endicott,” Gillespie went on, “spoke to our mayor about you. Mayor Schubert phoned Pasadena. After consulting with me, we reached a decision to have you investigate Mantoli’s murder under my direction.”
    There was silence in the car for the next three blocks. Then Tibbs broke it carefully. “I think, Chief Gillespie, that it might be better if I left town