 This is your FBI. This is your FBI, an official broadcast from the files of the Federal Bureau of Investigations, presented as a public service by the Equitable Life Assurance Society of the United States. To your FBI, you look for national security. To the Equitable Society for Financial Security. These two great institutions are dedicated to the protection of you, your home, and your country. Tonight, the story of a crime against society. Murder. In the crime-married era of the 1920s and early 30s, state boundaries proved haven for the gangster criminals who plagued the nation. Law enforcement agencies had to rely upon complex systems of extradition to bring these lawbreakers to justice. But since 1934, since Congress gave the FBI jurisdiction to track down these fugitives, to skew them across state borders, this type of roving criminal has almost disappeared. For the criminal, there is now no refuge in flight. The proof of this? A man who called himself John Dixon is an excellent example. His flight began in a city in Florida and a well-to-do home in that city, in fact, in the living room of that home. You go ahead and put on the light, will you, dear? Okay. Double features always wear me out. I wish it felt that way before we left. Just say where you are, folks. Fred. Quiet, lady. Who are you? I was just doing a little work here. I afraid you came in at the wrong time. Fred, he's a burglar. We are told you to be quiet. Sometimes you're nervous with a gun in my hand. Come off that. That's what he says. You're very smart. Now, just come in and sit down. Very well. Come on, dear. Fade to down, phone's cut. We shouldn't be disturbed. Now, there's just one other precaution I think I'd better take. There's some cloth and adhesive tape on that table there. I thought it long just in case. Well... Your wife will use it on you, sir. Yes. You must obey. You won't mind it. Come on. Put it around his mouth. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Did I hear you both say you're done in the movies? Yes. What to see? I don't remember. Just put the adhesive over the cloth. Like this? Yes. Have you seen the new cars we picked at Central? No. It's the Hunters. I caught it last night. Is that too tight for you? Leave it that way, lady. That's perfect. Oh, darling. Now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to give you the same treatment. Oh, please. Sorry, lady. Oh, no, please. Oh, no. I always hate to do a job this way. But you must appreciate my treatment. Just stay still, lady. That's it. We'll be home 15 minutes later. I'm not in here. And we wouldn't have time to go through all this. There you are. Now, if you both sit down, I can tell you about it. Right over there we'll do. Come along. That may have a few of your possessions in that bag. I'm afraid I'm going to need transportation, too. Have you your car keys, sir? In which pocket? Fine. Now, why don't I sit down with you? Have one little farewell drink and leave. With the crime committed, the criminal's flight begins. If the casual flight at first, he feels secure on the knowledge that his victims are helpless, but they cannot report him for many hours. So he drives north in their car, drives on a main highway, drives to a refreshment stand on the outskirts of town. All right, Max. Can I get something to eat? Sure. How about a hamburger? All right, Max. Meet this day. Oh. Cheap, is it? Fine. Huh? I said fine. That's what I thought you said. I didn't think you'd hear in it anymore. Everybody's got complaints. They always do his things. All the time, he speaks. Oh, that's your Xenon over there. Oh, it's not yours, isn't it, Max? Yes. Fine. Do I see your registration? Of course. It's in the car. Oh, come on. I'll get it for you. Okay. Is there any trouble off of that? Yeah. The car was reported stolen. Well, that'd be a mistake. I've been driving it all day. I still want to see the registration. All right. It's in the club compartment. Here we are. Hey, what happened? Cancel my order. Max. The crime of robbery, the fugitive is out of the crime of murder. A two-shot killed a policeman who sought to question him regarding the ownership of the car. The flight is not so casual now. John Dixon abandoned the stolen car and hurriedly went to a nightclub on the outskirts of the city. When'd you come in? I just now. And late, aren't you? I just came up to you. Oh, I'm not singing any more than I say, baby. It's like I was just on my way home. Well, maybe we can stop off for a bite or eat something, eh? Yeah, I guess I'd be okay. Fine. You have a car, don't you? Yeah, I don't know. You're not with me. Tell them I drop me off here. Well, we can use mine. Ready now? Sure. Let's go then. Say, you know something more. What? I forgot your name. Dixon. Tell me, Dixon. Oh, sure. I should have remembered that, but so many fellas come out here and all. I understand. Go ahead. I'm parked right over here. Okay. You were that night. Yes. Beautiful. You come around here? No, I'm from up north. Oh, you were. You told me that last night, didn't you? Yes, I believe I did. So many fellas tell you so many stories and all. I understand. Here we are. You want a drive? I'd rather not. Okay, hop in. Thanks. The reason I asked you was so many fellas like to drive and all. I guess I'm the exception. You can say that again. Well, where to? I suggest you to drive north. But there's some good eating places up there. I, you drive north. What? Do as I say. Not just a minute. Look, I mean, you see this guy? Hey. I killed a cop with it a little while ago. So be a good girl and drive north. I said, are you tired? I can't relieve you the driving. I just think it's better this way. For you, maybe. What time is it? Almost four a.m. Tell me something, William. Is this a regular business with you? What do you mean? Killing people, cops? No. Why'd you do it? He tried to interfere. Well, with? I was driving a car. It wasn't mine. You steal cars, too, won't you? Yes. I'm quite visible. You sound like you were proud of it. I am. Don't pick this thing and things. Well, there's not a great deal of difference. What do you mean? We both enjoy prominence, being in the public eye. Kidding? No, no, no. You're undoubtedly pleased when you see your picture in the paper. Well, I am, too. You got a press agent? No. But my picture was in true detective magazine three times last year. With numbers under it. I'm still satisfied. Okay. Wait a minute. What? Now, that's the bus up ahead there. Yeah. When you pass it, stop. You mean you're getting out? Yes. According to the gauge, your gas tank just got emptied. Hurry up, Pat. Miss it. That'll be a pleasure. John Dickson left his car, left his unwilling companion after crossing the state line into Georgia. This was a mistake for him. A costly mistake for he was now under the jurisdiction of the FBI, as are any and all criminals who cross state lines to avoid prosecution. Exactly one hour after Dickson left the nightclub singer, she was telling her story to special agents of the FBI. Did you see that bus, Miss Harvey? Yeah, sure. Can you describe it? Well, it was an interstate bus. Was there any sign on it telling where it was bound? I didn't see any. It was heading north, though. And this was a little after 4 a.m. I'll check with the bus terminal here, see what they can do with it. All right, Nick. He sure had plenty of nerve. How did you meet him? Oh, he'd come into the club a couple times. Do you recall who entered this situation? Nobody, really. In my line of work, you meet so many fellas and all. Did he seem to know anyone else in the club? No, I don't think so. Have you ever been out with him before? No. The name he gave you was John Dickson. That's right. Probably an alien. I wish I could describe him for you better, but like I said before, he looks just like a hundred other guys. That's the same report we received from the couple who was born in Ross. Could they give you anything? Yes, a good deal. That bus was bound for Savannah. Sure. Yes, and it's an express. It doesn't make any sense. Oh, that's a break. How do you mean? We're going up to the Savannah Field Office tonight. We have tickets on a plane that leaves here in exactly 15 minutes. Now, kid. We'll tell a type of report ahead, but it's just possible that we might reach Savannah in time to meet Mr. Dickson in person. I wish we had more to go on. This is the script, I mean. Well, if he flagged the bus down on the highway, the driver should recall him. This could be it now. Yes. Let's stand over here. Not many passengers. Can't be more than a dozen. No. This is Savannah. Last stop. I see nothing but women. Uh, two soldiers there. Yes, and no other masks. Uh, driver. Yeah? We're special agents for the FBI. Here are my credentials. Oh. Well, what can they do for us? We're looking for a man. He boarded your bus on the highway about 30 miles north of Jacksonville. These bus? I believe so. Yeah? A little after 4 a.m. Well, I was there a little after 4 a.m., but I didn't stop this bus for nobody. We momentarily closed the Federal Bureau of Investigation file on John Dickson's murderer. We'll return to this case in just a moment. Let's open the dictionary to the letter S and look for the word society. That's the S-O-S-O-C. Oh, yes, there it is. Society. And the dictionary says that society means a voluntary association of individuals for common purposes. Well, that certainly describes the Equitable Life Assurance Society of the United States. The Equitable Society is a voluntary association of 3,200,000 men and women. The idea that led this group to get together is very simple. We of the Equitable Society believe that 3,200,000 pairs of shoulders are a lot broader than one pair. Our common purpose is to combine our dollars into a common protective fund which gives each of us far greater security than he could achieve by his own unaided effort. In our dealings with the Equitable, we members receive the friendly service and personal attention that the word society implies. Moreover, since we are the sole owners of our society, we know that equitable funds are at work for our benefit. And because the Equitable Society's investments cover America, they are at work for our fellow citizens, too. By serving its members, the Equitable Society serves America. And now, back to the file on John Dixon's murder. A fugitive, a clever fugitive can find many ways to elude the law. He can travel on railroads, buses, cars, trains. He can move swiftly from city to city from state to state. But the FBI moves swiftly, too. And with the invaluable aid of local police agencies and law-abiding citizens, they can track the cleverest fugitive down. The man who called himself John Dixon was extremely clever. His failure to board the bus to complete disappearance was proof of this. Returning to Jacksonville, the special agent sent for the woman who traveled with him, the nightclub singer, and questioned her again. I didn't really see him get on the bus, but what else was I saying? Naturally, I presume they were. Naturally. We found out how it even... we have to look for other leads. I got no idea what happened to him. I thought of what I told you. Miss Harvey, we're trying to set up something definite for you. Perhaps you can contribute to that. I already told you what he looked like. Yes, I know. But this time, see if you can recall some things he said. We've already given his description to the author, Bruntwick. That's the closest good-sized town after you let him off. Did they see him there? We've had no word. What did you talk about on that ride last night, Miss Harvey? Him, mostly. Yes. Sure had a thing for himself. Bragging, was he? But all the time. Can you remember anything specific? No. Being a larceny guy was a career with him, he said. Did he mention any other jobs he'd done? No. Well, why did he refer to the career? That was because he saw his work and my work were alike. See? He was all puffed up because his picture had been in true detective magazine three times last year. The picture was in true detective three times? That's what he said. In one year? Yes. Wow. That could tell us who this boy really is, Nick. Yes. See if we can get back copies of that magazine. Miss Harvey is going to help us do a little research. The idle remark, the boasting remark made by the man called Dixon to the nightclub singer brought results. In copies of the detective magazine, one man's picture did appear in three issues. The girl identified him as Dixon. There was text accompanying these pictures, text that saved the FBI agents much time in determining the killer's true identity. They learned that his criminal record was a long and vicious one, that he had changed his name many times, that he was also adept at changing his complete identity. This was a valuable lead. This was something specific. This was what sent special agents to all clothing stores in Brunswick, Georgia, seeking knowledge of Dixon's whereabouts. Finally, in one store... Let's see that picture again. Charlie. There you are. Yeah, that's the fellow, all right? You're sure of that? Yeah, positive. And he came in here yesterday? That's right. Round noontime. What did he buy? A blue suit, a brown fell hat, oh yes, top coat. Then you describe the coat? It's a round tweed, just like that one hanging on the rack there. And what did he do with the clothes he was wearing? I took them with him, had me wrap them up for him, I see. He said he wanted them wrapped for mailing. Did he say where to? No. And I had no mind asking questions. Why not? Well, I noticed when he rolled his clothes up for pecking that he put a gun in the bundle too. A clue. A clue that is 24 hours old. In 24 hours a man can cross and recross our continent, but still there was now a clue. The special agents armed with Dixon's complete description visited all transportation centers in Brunswick. At the railroad station they came up with a lead. The day before a man they believed to be Dixon had inquired about trains to Atlanta. When informed that one did not leave for many hours he inquired where he could hire a car. He was sent to a garage. Look at this picture. Is this the man? Sure, that's him all right. He's oldest, his mother was dying. He had to get out of town. Did you rent him a car? No, he couldn't do that, but he got up to Atlanta anyway. Ah. Well, we got him a lift with Doc Whitney. The doc was driving up there in his engine. Oh, I remember him. He was a pleasant enough fellow. And you drove him right here to Atlanta? Well, I drove him right to the airport. Where was he bound for? Chicago. How do you know? Well, I put him on board the plane. Yes, I remember him. He occupied seat five on yesterday's run. Did you talk with him? Mm-hmm. What about? Well, he said his mother was dying. And he inquired about the flight to Omaha. Did he say he was going there? He wanted to, yes. I stole the ticket to a man yesterday. He looked like that picture all right. You went to Omaha? Yeah, on the 90-clock flight. Did he say his mother was dying? Yeah, but his name wasn't Dixon. It was, uh, Snyder. That's an alias he frequently used. Well, he should be in Omaha right now. Sorry, Mr. Bryant. He arrived here in Omaha late last night. Yes, he was on the 1235 flight. Any report on him at the airport? He took a taxi into the center of town. How do you know? We contacted a soldier who was on the plane. Yes. The soldier reported that he ordered a cab. He said word ahead to have it waiting. Yes. When he got into it, a civilian climbed in after him. In his description, it had to be Dixon. And Miss Soldiers dropped him off downtown? That's right. What makes you think that his flight has ended here? All the conversations he had along the way with ticket agents and other airline employees indicated that this was his destination. Very well. We'll do a complete check on him here at once. In Washington, Director Hoover instructed that no effort should be spared to locate Dixon and bring him to justice. Constant checks were made at the airport, railway and bus stations, but no further information was developed. Special agents visited hotels, tourist camps, and boarding houses in an attempt to pick up the trail. It appeared quite likely that Dixon had stopped his desperate flight in Omaha and was somewhere in the vicinity. Relentlessly, the investigation continued. A double check was made at communication centers. Long distance toll calls were examined. Dixon's photograph was shown to Pullman conductors. Beards have an operator. A crew of agents made regular rounds of night clubs, but no trace of him was found. Once more, Dixon had completely disappeared. Just at that end, Nick, I know. He could only uncover something. There's kind of a lead. You're still convinced that he's here in Omaha? Yes, everything points to this thing, his destination. That's true. I don't even think he's hiding out. He can't suspect it. Excuse me. Born speaking. Oh, yes, Frank. Yes, I see. How many was this? He'll have the place covered. Good. Thanks, goodbye. Well, there's the lead you wanted, Roy. What? A waitress from the coffee shop at the Rome Hotel identified a picture of Dixon. Really? He had breakfast in there yesterday morning. I see. Someone's going to cover the place from now on. Nick? Yes. That's the letter. What? The package. The package Dixon had wrapped from mailing and bronze. Yes. This is his last stop. He could have had it sent here. Yes. Discover the post office and express company as it was. Stop orders were placed in the post office and express companies against every name Dixon had ever used. The express company notified the FBI that a package had arrived that morning addressed to a John Snyder, one of Dixon's many names. Special agents sent to cover the express office found that the package had been sent from Chicago, Illinois the day Dixon had been there. This looked open and shut the end of the trail. But a week passed, a week of endless waiting and Dixon made no effort to pick up the package. Dixon was in the city. The FBI was reasonably sure of that. It would have to be a matter of time. Sorry, Nick. I'm just tired of waiting. Why don't you go out and get some lunch? I'll stick around here for a while. Yeah, maybe I will. I'm sure that if we... How do you do it? Hello? I wonder if you have a package here for me, please. What's the name? Snyder. John Snyder. I'll see. This is it. Yeah. Come on. Dixon. What? That's your name, isn't it? No, I'm sorry. There's a package here for you, Mr. Snyder. Thank you. Just a minute. Look, I told you my name wasn't Dixon. You're wasting your time. Who are you? We're a special agent for the FBI. What do you want with me? We'd like to talk to you about Florida. I've never been there. In fact, I... Hold it. Let go of me. I just remembered. We heard there was a gun in that package. Would you pick it up, please, Nick? Right. Come on, Dixon. Few heroics in the FBI. They depend on superior brain power, manpower, and firepower. They will never rest in their crusade to make crime an unprofitable business. No clue is to obscure. No time too long. No detail too small for their attention. Their entire resources are available at all times to all local law enforcement agencies and to you, the law abiding citizens. This combination cannot be beaten. Many have tried it. To date, few have succeeded. Let's talk about the disposition of this case in just a minute. Imagine the entire area of New York City's Manhattan Island, 31 square miles covered with four feet of oil. That's the total amount of petroleum product. Fuel oil, lubricating oil, aviation, and motor gasoline supplied to the Army in 1944. Requirements of the U.S. Navy have been equally staggering. So will you join the equitable society in a salute? A salute to the men of the petroleum industry. By working this miracle of war production, they have proved that no job is too difficult for the men and women of America and for the system of free enterprise that flourishes in America. For many years, funds of the Equitable Life Assurance Society of the United States have aided in the development of the petroleum industry. Equitable dollars help drill the oil wells, help rear the derrick, help build the pipeline through which the lifeblood of modern warfare flows toward the fighting front. In wartime, equitable society dollars are fighting dollars. And at all times, they are security dollars. For you, your home, and your country. Dixon returned to Florida and turned over to local authorities with convictive murder in the first degree without recommendation for mercy. The incident shoes in tonight's broadcast are taken from the files of the Federal Bureau of Investigations. However, all named shoes are fictitious, and any similarity thereof to the names of persons living or dead is accidental. Tonight, the music was under the direction of Van Cleave. Your narrator was Frank Lovejoy. This is your FBI is a jerry divine production. Now, this is Carl Frank speaking for the Equitable Life Assurance Society of the United States and inviting you to tune in again next week at this same time for this is your FBI. This is the American Broadcasting Company.