Dillinger - Jack Higgins [0]
Jack Higgins
Open Road Integrated Media
New York
For Geoff and Irene--not forgetting Sarah, Kate and Rebecca
CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
A Biography of Jack Higgins
INTRODUCTION
Early in March 1934, John Dillinger, the most notorious criminal in American history, made a spectacular escape from Lake County Jail, Crown Point, Indiana. What happened to him in the period following his escape has always been a matter of speculation. He was reported to have been seen in Chicago, New Orleans, California, New York, even in London. And there were those, of course, who insisted that he was safe over the border in Mexico. Perhaps it went something like this ...
1
Dillinger lay on his bunk in one corner of the cell, his head pillowed on a hand, staring up at the ceiling. His cell mate in the 'escape-proof' new section of Lake County's three-storey brick jail, Herbert Youngblood, a big Negro, stood at the window gazing out through the bars down into the street in front of the jail.
Dillinger said, 'What's it like out there?'
'Must be two, maybe three hundred people,' Youngblood said. 'Hell, it's worse than the State Fair. They got National Guard out there in uniform, like they were going to war.' He turned, smiling. 'Maybe they think you're planning on taking a trip?'
'It's a thought,' Dillinger said calmly.
There was the rattle of a key in the lock of the sliding cell door, a row of vertical bars. They turned to see an old man wearing faded denims, holding a tray, Sam Cahoon, the attendant.
'Coffee, Mr Dillinger?'
'Why not?'
Dillinger sat up and the old man placed two tin cups on the small table and filled them, the pot shaking a little in his hand so that he spilled some.
'You been across to the hotel this morning?' Dillinger asked as Cahoon passed him his coffee.
'I sure have, Mr Dillinger,' Cahoon said. 'They're sleeping on the floors. More folks coming in all the time. They've got reporters, radio people, a newsreel cameraman. You should get a commission from the hotel, Mr Dillinger.'
He smiled in a strained, anxious way as if conscious that he might have gone too far. Dillinger sipped his coffee thoughtfully and it was Youngblood who answered for him.
'A great idea, Pops. Next time you're over there, you tell the guy who runs the joint Mr Dillinger was asking about his cut.'
'I sure will,' Cahoon said eagerly. 'More coffee, Mr Dillinger?'
'No thanks, Sam. This is just fine,' Dillinger told him.
The old man picked up the tray. On the other side of the bars was one of the trusties with a mop stuck in a bucket.
'I was told to bring this here,' the trustie said.
Cahoon slid the bars to the side just enough to let the man squeeze by and put the bucket and mop down next to where Dillinger was sitting. Quickly Youngblood said, 'I'll do that.'
The trustie, who looked very nervous, said, 'I was told to give it to Mr Dillinger.' He scurried out, followed by Sam, who locked the sliding bars behind him.
'Idiots,' Youngblood said. 'What good's a mop and bucket without water?'
Dillinger held a finger up to his lips. He went over to the bars and checked right and left, then with his back to the bars in case anyone came along unexpectedly, he squatted down and carefully lifted the mop end from the bottom of the bucket and took out something wrapped in flannel.
'Stand next to me,' he whispered to Youngblood.
Their backs a screen in case anyone approached, Dillinger unwrapped the flannel. In its centre was a blue-black .32 calibre Colt automatic. Quickly, Dillinger checked the clip, saw that it had all eight rounds, and jammed it back into the handle.
'Let's have your knife,' Dillinger said.
Youngblood produced a bone-handled pocket knife from the top of his right boot and handed it across. Dillinger sprung the blade, instinctively tested it