"I don't think that will be necessary if you can answer one question for me now," Virgil said. "Axe dangerous drugs — in the sense of dangerous for human use without medical direction-in any way involved?"
Washburn threw his head back and thought. It took him several seconds to make up his mind. "I will answer that, since in a way the information has already been compromised and you would have to be told anyway. This is absolutely confidentiaclass="underline" we are working for and with the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs. Chemistry is our bag; for reasons that I would rather not go into right now, we are in a position to do the work we are doing for the Bureau."
"Would these facts account for my meeting Duffy and Lonigan at your plant rather than at their own offices?"
Washburn was very slightly uncomfortable with that question, but he answered it *To a degree, certainly. Perhaps I'd better add a Uttle to that. I have a personal interest in the work of the Bureau which goes beyond our professional association. I have what you might call a hobby interest in young people."
Tibbs waited a moment before he spoke again. "Mr. Wash-bum, by any chance do you have four children?"
His host looked at him keenly. "You know, then?'*
Virgil shook his head. "It was a surmise, that's all. I saw the family picture in your oflSce with the three young children, but you could well be the father of a teen-ager."
Don Washburn did not hesitate. "I have a seventeen-year-old son, Mr. Tibbs. Without discounting our love for our other children, Robin has always been very close to us. He was bom with a clubfoot which, thank God, was fully corrected-you'd never know it now. When he was fifteen, Mr. Tibbs- fifteen, mind you-some beast of a peddler got him to sniff a fine white powder without knowing what it was."
"Heroin?"
Washburn was grim. "Yes. I was not aware of what had happened until early summer when, unaccountably, he refused to use the pool. Up untU then swimming had been a big thing with him: he could hardly wait for the start of the season. I'll spare you the details; we found out what it was and why he was afraid to let us see his forearms. I took him to our doctor. He filed a report as he was required to do, and shortly after that your narcotics people contacted me. Eventually I met Mr. Duffy and following a check that he made, I was given an opportunity to strike back."
"I understand," Virgil said. "And, believe me, I sympathize. Where is your son now?"
"In Kentucky."
"Lexmgton?"
"Yes."
Tibbs rose. "One more thing before I go. Do you by any chance know any of Mr. Wang's other friends or associates? Or any potential enemies?"
'There's a man named Johnny Wu in Chinatown. I haven't met him, but I understand that he too is a jade dealer. Quite a different type of individual, but that doesn't imply any lack of integrity."
"And the girl?"
Washburn shook his head. "A mystery to me. I was introduced to her and found her very ladylike, but I do not understand her to any degree. I gather that in some way Mr. Wang was her benefactor, but I don't know any details. I doubt if the obvious thing is true; he simply wasn't that kind of a man. One who would take advantage of homeless girls, I mean."
"Thank you very much, Mr. Washburn."
Five minutes later Virgil was outside, looking up into the 28
clear evening sky as though he could read directions there. He got back into his car and consulted his watch. The temptation to go home was strong; he had already had an overlong day and the court grilling in the morning had gotten it off to anything but a good start. On the other hand the Los Angeles Chinatown scarcely stirred before midafter-noon and if he wanted to see Johnny Wu, the time would never be better than the present.
He started the engine and began to drive toward the entrance to the Pasadena Freeway. It was old and twisting, but it would take him into the heart of the city in a few minutes and he did not even need to go that far; the Chinatown area lay close to the superhighway a mile or two short of the four-level interchange.
He rolled down the window to take advantage of the breeze that would be generated as soon as he picked up to the allowable fifty-five miles an hour on his way into the city. The unmarked poHce car he was driving was equipped with the standard model four-seventy air conditioning: roll down all four windows and then drive seventy miles an hour. He thought again about the silent figure lying at an angle in the middle of the floor with the ancient jade knife all but buried in the heart. And surrounding it, the four other jade carvings placed in a grisly watch. He thought about all five of the pieces of jade and asked himself many questions.
He was so intent in his thought processes that he nearly missed his turnoff. He left the freeway by means of what he knew to be an illegal lane change and was grateful that no one saw him do it, no one, at least, who was in a position to take any oflScial action. Free of that potential embarrassment he maneuvered through the short, up-and-down streets of the near north side until he broke out on North Broadway. Three minutes later he pulled into the parking lot opposite the ornate entranceway to New Chinatown, an investment by the local merchants which had paid bountiful dividends. He slipped the plain tan-colored car into a slot, locked it, and held out his hand to the young Mexican attendant for the ticket. He received only a silent shake of the head and then was waved away.
How he had recognized his vehicle Tibbs did not know, but he was in no mood to debate the point. He crossed the street and walked past the statue of Sun Yat-sen which occupied the place of honor in the entrance court. Then he was surrounded by the closely packed restaurants, souvenir
shops, and novelty houses which stocked everything from gaudy trash to a limited number of genuinely fine items. Virgil walked into a store at random and spoke to the short, stocky Chinese woman who was closest to him behind the counter. "Where can I find Johnny Wu?" he asked.
The woman evaluated him with a single look that missed very little. "Is he expecting you?" she asked.
Tibbs shook his head. "I'm a police oJBQcer," he said. *Td like to talk to him."
"He might be at General Lee's."
"Thank you very much."
He walked up the street a few doors to the entrance to one of the largest and most popular restaurants in the area. Almost at once a slender Chinese beauty in a green sheath greeted him. "Good evening, sir. Dinner for one?"
Virgil smiled at her; he would have done that if he had been dying. "I'm looking for Mr. Johnny Wu. Is he here by any chance?'*
The girl studied him for a moment. "I'll find out, sir," she said.
"Thank you. Please tell him that Mr. Tibbs would like to speak with him if it's convenient."
He waited a short while, taking in the scene at the bar which was so like so many tens of thousands of others. Bars, he decided, had a uniformity about them that exceeded almost any other form of enterprise. This one was in a Chinese restaurant, but the drinks being served up were essentially the same as they would have been anywhere else. He was considering the value of a man's drinking habits as a means of identification when the girl returned. "If you will come with me, Mr. Tibbs?" She made it a question, then turned and led him up the staircase which hugged the right wall.
The second floor was an expanse of dining areas which had been carefully designed to suggest that they were separate entities. As Virgil looked about he realized once more how times had changed for the better. He could remember when a Chinese restaurant was a place where white people went to eat chop suey and perhaps inhale a small portion of exotic atmosphere. Most of them had offered a minimum of decor and based their appeal on meals that cost a little less. General Lee's hardly fitted that mold. Despite the late hour it was well filled with diners, Asians and Occidentals who ate together or separately, and distinguishable only by the slight difference in their features. When he noted a Negro couple quietly enjoying themselves, he was grateful 30