Public Enemies_ America's Greatest Crime Wave and the Birth of the FBI - Bryan Burrough [227]
The two detectives were still asking questions five minutes later when the first people began filing out of the theater. Purvis tensed. Leaving Hurt and Winstead in the doorway, he stepped to the box office, into the path of the exiting patrons. The cigar in his mouth was shaking. More people came out, forming a crowd on the sidewalk around him. Purvis noted the women and children. He tried to remain calm.
Then, at 10:40, there he was: Dillinger, shuffling out with the crowd, Polly Hamilton holding his left arm, Ana Sage inching forward on her left. Purvis strained to look nonchalant. Dillinger was barely five feet from him; with one step, he could reach out and touch his arm. Purvis glanced at Dillinger and for the briefest moment their eyes met. For a fleeting second Purvis thought he had been recognized.
But Dillinger dropped his eyes and moved forward. As he did, Purvis took out a matchbook, struck a match, and lit the cigar. Dillinger stepped to his left, guiding the women south, the way they had come, toward Hurt and Winstead. In the doorway twenty feet down the sidewalk, both agents saw the signal. Hurt whispered to Winstead, “That’s Dillinger, with the straw hat and the glasses.”
Directly across the street, Jerry Campbell saw Dillinger at the same time. “There they go,” he said to another agent. Both men edged south down the sidewalk, moving parallel to Dillinger.
Of all the agents outside of the Biograph that night, only a handful reacted to Purvis’s signal. According to FBI memos, in fact, no more than a half-dozen agents saw it. He was too far away and surrounded by too many people. Cowley, standing further down the block, did not see Purvis light the cigar. Nor did the two East Chicago cops, standing barely twenty feet north of Purvis; as Purvis watched, amazed, they continued talking with the curious Chicago detectives. Across the street, Martin Zarkovich recognized Dillinger himself. He began walking toward the East Chicago cops, hoping to rouse them.
Purvis was unsure what to do. He took a step or two to follow Dillinger. Then he took out a second match and once again applied it to the cigar, hoping to draw the attention of more agents. He couldn’t tell whether Winstead, Hurt, or anyone else knew what was happening. In frustration he mouthed the words, “Damn it! Come on!”
Ten feet down the sidewalk, Dillinger and the two women were inching forward in a knot of six or seven people. As the crowd loosened and Dillinger lengthened his stride, Purvis walked after them. As he did, Dillinger and the women strode past the doorway where Winstead and Hurt stood. When the trio passed, Hurt stepped behind them, crossing the sidewalk, and turned to follow. Agent Ed Hollis, who stood in the gutter beside the FBI car, was right beside him. Dillinger glanced to his right, at Hollis. Winstead took a step forward. Dillinger half-turned and looked straight into Winstead’s face.
He knew it then. Standing across the street, a rookie agent named Jack Welles noticed that Dillinger “appeared to realize that he was trapped; there was a tense look on his face.” For years afterward the agents on the sidewalk would remember those next few seconds as if in slow motion. Turning forward, Dillinger appeared to lean into a crouch. At the same time, he slid his hand into his pants pocket, reaching for his .38. Behind him, Winstead pulled his .45. Hurt and Hollis drew their guns as well.
Dillinger broke from the women and took a step or two forward, as if to run for the alley that opened ten feet in front of him. He never had a chance. No one yelled “Halt” or “Stop”