Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [182]
The more Hoover learned, the more ringing his defense of his men. In a memo to the attorney general, Hoover wrote, “I do not believe . . . the facts which have been presented me to date [justify] any criticism leveled at the Agents for the action which they took in this matter. They were approaching a known gangsters’ hide-out, and they saw three men leaving this hideout. These three were called upon to halt, but instead of doing so, they entered an automobile and proceeded to drive away, and consequently, the Agents fired.” In the same memo, Hoover went out of his way to defend Purvis, pointing out that Hugh Clegg, as Assistant Director, “was in charge of the detail at all times.”4
He would not be so sanguine for long.
As Hoover spent that Monday trying to fathom what had gone wrong, the five men of the Dillinger Gang struggled to reach safe havens. None had an easy time of it. By daylight police had thrown up roadblocks all across Wisconsin and Minnesota. Hundreds of flannel-clad lumberjacks and vigilantes poured from their homes, grabbed up shotguns, and piled into cars, scouring the back roads in search of the gang. First to reach safety was Tommy Carroll. His car bogged down on a muddy logging road; striking out on foot, he managed to hitchhike back to St. Paul.
Dillinger, meanwhile, accompanied by Van Meter and Hamilton, drove their stolen Ford coupe south, dropping the car’s owner outside the village of Park Falls, Wisconsin, around nine A.M. Then they, too, headed for St. Paul. Sticking to country roads, they dodged the posses and crossed into Minnesota without incident. Figuring the city’s northern approaches would be guarded, Dillinger circled south.
There, at 10:30, the trio approached the bridge over the Mississippi River at Hastings, twenty miles below St. Paul. A policeman named Fred McArdle, accompanied by three deputy sheriffs, was parked at the bridge’s southern end, checking license numbers against an FBI bulletin in his lap. As Dillinger approached the bridge, McArdle was startled to recognize the plate. He pulled out to give chase, but just as he did, a cattle truck edged in front of him. By the time McArdle’s car reached the far side, Dillinger was gone.
McArdle and the three deputies pressed northward, toward St. Paul, hoping to catch up; they had no radio, and thus no way to alert anyone that Dillinger was heading into the city. Ten miles north of the bridge, McArdle spotted the Ford, which was driving at barely forty miles an hour in an effort to avoid attention. One of the deputies fired at its rear tires, missing. The Ford surged forward. Dillinger bashed out the rear window and opened fire.
For several minutes a wild running gunfight ensued at more than eighty miles per hour. As the two cars hurtled toward South St. Paul, a bullet struck John Hamilton in the lower back, and he slumped down in the front seat, badly wounded. Rounding a sharp curve, Van Meter spun to the right, veering onto a dirt path called Cemetery Road. Momentarily losing sight of the car, Officer McArdle drove past. By the time he noticed the Ford was no longer in front of him, it was gone.
Van Meter found a secluded spot and pulled over. Hamilton was bleeding heavily and needed a doctor. First, Dillinger realized, they needed a new car. They cruised the dirt roads south of the city for an hour without spotting one. Finally, around noon, Van Meter parked on the side of a gravel road three miles south of South St. Paul. At 12:45 a Ford approached. It was driven by Roy Francis, a district manager for the Northern States Power Company. Francis was on his lunch hour, taking his wife and their infant son for a drive to help the baby sleep. Ahead, Francis saw a man standing in the road.
It was Van Meter. He was holding a pistol. “I’m sorry to trouble you,” he said as Francis stopped his car, “but I’ve got to have your machine.” Francis