for the fact that this was a new generation, not in age, but in thought.
The girl ahead of him walked with easy grace as she led him to a small alcove where, at a table that nonnally would have been reserved for at least four, a single man was seated. She nodded her head slightly to Tibbs, eyed him for a fraction of a second, and then silently withdrew.
"Sit down, Mr. Tibbs," the man said. "You look like you could use a drink."
Compared to the still form of Mr. Wang, Johnny Wu was a complete antithesis. He appeared to be of medium height, slightly rotund, and somewhere in early middle age. His Chinese ancestry could be read in his face, but that was as far as it went in his external deportment. He stood up to shake hands formally, then sat down again and without waiting for a comment from Tibbs signaled for a waiter. One was at his elbow almost immediately. "What will relieve your anguish?" he asked.
"What are you having?"
The waiter understood and left. As Tibbs sat down, Wu took the initiative. "You've come to see me about the death of Wang Fu-sen, I believe. I hope that you'll apply all your talents to finding whoever it was that did him in."
"You know then," Virgil said.
"Of course, things like that don't remain hidden. Especially when a man of Wang's stature is involved, and when it's on the newscasts."
"I see." He hadn't known that the murder had been made pubhc that quickly. "It would be a real help if you'd tell me all you can about him. Particularly any enemies he might have had.'*
Johnny Wu picked up a piece of paper-wrapped chicken and unfolded it. "You're Virgil Tibbs, aren't you?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Didn't you work on a murder done in a nudist camp?'*
"True."
"Lots of pretty girls running around with no clothes on."
"Some."
"CharUe Chan never got a break like that.'*
Virgil kept his face unchanged. "He had a large family,*' he answered. "He didn't need it."
Wu considered that. "You have a point," he conceded. "But don't say 'had.' Charlie is stiU living. He's an old man, of course, retired in Honolulu. Fve met him.*'
"Indeed," Tibbs said. The two men looked at each other,
then Virgil spoke again. "Since Mr. Chan is in retirement, I don't presume that I can consult him."
"Probably not. He is devoting himself to a study of ancient systems of calligraphy."
"In that case, perhaps you will help me. Do you know who did in Mr. Wang?"
Johnny Wu became serious. "No, I do not." He paused while Virgil's drink was served. "He mentioned to me once that some sort of difficulty had arisen, but he was the kind of person who might have said that very casually-^it was impossible to tell."
"Do you think that it might have involved his house-guest?"
"Yumeko? I doubt it. She's all right, I thmk. She's not a happy person, but I'd bet that she thought the world of Fu-sen. He was a genuine humanitarian."
"I understand that you also deal in jade, Mr. Wu."
"Johnny, please-I don't like formality. I do some jade dealing, yes, but right now there isn't too much to work with. I don't want any of Chairman Mao's junk-and that's what most of it is-and the supply of good merchandise is way off. Occasionally something comes in, but not often enough to make it a profitable line. Consequently I haven't gone out for business in jade to any degree. I M a few orders now and then when I'm lucky."
Tibbs thought about that, then tried out his drink. He couldn't name it or its ingredients, but it was excellent. "Did Mr. Wang have the same difficulties in getting good merchandise?'* he asked.
Johnny Wu shook his head. "I'd say that he had the best sources of anyone in the country. He seemed to be able to find excellent pieces when nobody else could. I've been on the other side several times on business and once I tried hard to develop some legitimate sources, but I didn't really get anywhere. Lots of imitation stuff was available, but nobody who knows anything wants that. There was some new work that had come out of Peking by various routes, but it was all fourth- or fifth-rate at the best. Nothing to compare with what was done during the Ching Dynasty. Do you know your Chinese history?"
"No," Tibbs admitted.
"You ought to brush up a little. And read a couple of good books on jade. You're a cultured man; you should know something about it. If you're going to find out who killed Wang Fu-sen, you'd better know about jade."
"In your opinion, then, his death may be connected with jade in some way?"
"Well, since he was stabbed to death with a jade knife, which I suspect was probably not a knife at all, I would definitely say so, yes."
Tibbs looked at his fingers for a moment, then he studied the face of the man opposite him. "Your point is well taken," he said, "but there is one detail. I don't know it for a fact yet, but I'm almost certain that the knife I saw sticking out of his chest didn't kill him at all."
CHAPTER 5
After he had enjoyed a good night's rest, Virgil Tibbs felt much more ready to take on the problems of the world in general and those connected with the death of Wang Fu-sen in particular. At the same time he wished a little fervently that people could learn to behave themselves. They set up laws of their own making and then seemed determined to break them all on a systematic basis. Sometimes it was nothing more than pushing the speed limit a few miles per hour, but it also included the elimination of an unwanted person by cold and permanent murder.
From his oflSce he phoned up to Chief McGowan to tell him that the murder of the Chinese jade merchant looked like a sticky one, bad enough that he could not see his way clear to extend much cooperation to the Bureau of Narcotics and Dangerous Drugs until it had been cleaned up. Bob McGowan understood and promised to pass the word on to the federal authorities.
When that had been done, Bob Nakamura, his office mate who had been patiently waiting to get in a word of his own, had news. "The jury is back," he reported. "You've got a conviction."
Tibbs was grimly satisfied. "On the third try. Is he going to the joint?"
"Five years, I'd guess."
"I just hope now that he doesn't get out again in eighteen months on parole. There are still too many little girls in this town who don't always have adult protection."
"I know," Nakamura said. "Another thing: the preliminary print report on the Chinese murder-nothing. The victim himself and a young woman who is Hving in the house showed up-that's all. Incidentally, I understand that she's Japanese."
"Yes, but she doesn't know it," Tibbs answered. "She gave me the word for it. Her father was a Negro GI."
"Was it ainokoT
"That sounds right."
The bespectacled, crew-cut. Babbitt-looking Nisei detective turned around in his chair to face his partner. "Virg, she belongs to a group that's had it exceptionally tough. Most of the Japanese will reject her completely. You can judge how far she would be welcomed into the Negro community."
Virgil shook his head. "Not very far," he conceded. "Same old story; she's too different."
"Exactly. For her there's no easy place to go, because nobody really wants her."
Tibbs picked up a pencil and studied it as he spoke. "I've only seen her once, and at a bad time for her, but she impressed me as having some pretty fair assets."
"Could you call her attractive?"
"Why not." He put down the pencil. "As a person, mind you. She was pretty damn unhappy when I interviewed her, but under different circumstances she might have considerable appeal. Admittedly I wasn't considering her particularly in that light when we were talking."
"How about it?" Nakamura asked. "Was she playing concubine to the late lamented?"