Chino said, "Do you want a beer?"

He had never seen a man appear so grateful, Santiago saying, "Yes, indeed," smiling again, turning to go in the cafe.

Chino took the man's frail arm in his hand.

"Not in there. I have some I already paid for. Why waste it." He brought Santiago across the street, the man saying no, let's go to the bar, it would be his treat. Saying, listen, he was going to give Chino half the reward; he was going to surprise him with it, tomorrow.

When they were in the trees Chino said, "I'm going to use your truck."

Santiago said, of course, anytime. Chino said,

"Where are the keys?" Santiago said here, in his jacket. It was a black nylon with a hood that hung down in back.

Chino said, "Take it off." Santiago said it was his, whatever he wanted. He turned to look across the street at the cafe in red neon, at the cars and the pickup truck in front, people inside but no one coming out, as he took off the jacket. Chino, behind him, drew the pistol from his belt. He shot Santiago in the back of the head and shot him twice again lying on the ground.

Chino walked to the truck with the jacket covering the gun in his hand, got in and drove toward Miami to find a telephone book.

She goes by Adele Delisi now," Karen said, "her maiden name.

Married Foley in Las Vegas in '86 and filed for divorce the next year in Los Angeles County. Adele's forty-two. She lives in the Normandie on Collins Avenue, in the South Beach area."

They were at the kitchen table: Karen having a cigarette and a cup of coffee. Her dad, in one of his golf outfits, was having breakfast, a cheese and jelly sandwich on French bread and coffee, before leaving for the club.

"Anybody check her phone records?"

"Six times in the past month Adele accepted collect calls from GCI, the last one the day of the escape. But she never visited him the five months he was there."

"Didn't want her name on the list."

"Burdon asked why he kept calling her. She said because he was depressed. She said she hadn't seen him in eight years."

"She's in on it," Karen's dad said.

"I think so too. Foley told me the reason he came to Florida was to visit someone, and then dropped it. He said, "I better keep quiet."

"He called her. Who did she call?"

"Her sister-in-law, Ann; she's a disc jockey, I think in Canada. And a magician she worked for, Emil something."

"The Amazing, a third-rate act," her dad said, eating his sandwich, sipping his black coffee.

"The amazing thing about Emil is he's still around. Works with pigeons."

"Talking to Burdon she referred to Emil as that kraut son of a bitch.

He let her go right before Christinas and hired a younger girl. Adele's been surveilled since the day after the escape, but hasn't gone anywhere to speak of. She put an ad in the Herald, in the personals, to get another job with a magician. Good luck, huh? Burdon says they've trapped her line and hung a wire."

"I bet she knows it, too. Why don't you go talk to her?"

"I was thinking about it. I mentioned it to Burdon, he said he has all the help he needs."

"Why don't you talk to her anyway. Do it right, she'll tell you things she wouldn't tell Burdon. Pay attention to how she talks about Foley, her tone. Tell her you think he's a nice guy. No, first tell her about being in the trunk with him, in the dark for half an hour, and see how she takes it. If she's in on it, what does she get for all the aggravation, cops breathing on her? I bet nothing. So she still likes him enough to stick her neck out.

You think that's possible? What kind of a guy is he?"

"He's pretty laid-back, confident."

"Cocky?"

"No, but he was surprised I hadn't heard of him. Maybe I should have."

"He remind you of that guy Tillman?"

"Not at all."

"Remember calling me? You'd been out with him I think three times. You tell me the guy's a bank robber suspect and you don't know what to do.

I told you to get another boyfriend."

"You said, if I want to know if it's true, ask him."

"Yeah, bring up the subject, see how he reacts. If he breaks out in a sweat, call for backup. But this guy Foley, you know he's dirty and you still want to see him again."

"I want to bust his ass, put him in shackles."

"Yeah, okay. Don't overdo it. Your pride's hurt, you were armed and he took you. That bothers you, I can understand how you feel. But you're also curious about the man. Last night, twice you asked your married boyfriend Nicolet about him. You were concerned, but didn't want to show it."

"My married boyfriend-setting him up with that news story so you could talk about infidelity. I couldn't believe it. Yes, I could. That's why I never brought my boyfriends home, you interrogated them. Mom used to yell at you for that all the time."

"Your mother never raised her voice, God rest her soul.

She'd give me the look. No, what I was doing, I'd screen your boyfriends and tell you which ones were jerks, help you weed out the guys who were unfit. Take this guy Nicolet, he's okay, I guess, but he's a cowboy. The mag stuck in his jeans… You like the wild ones, don't you? You know I've always said there's a thin line between the cowboy cops and the armed robbers, all those guys that love to pack.

Maybe that accounts for your interest in Foley, the old pro bank robber."

"He kidnapped me."

"Yeah, but you talked all the way from GCI to the turnpike. It sounds more like a first date than a kidnapping. You ever hear of the Stockholm syndrome?"

"Now wait a minute," Karen said.

"The bank robbery in Stockholm," her dad said, "two guys, one of them's name-I can't think of it."

"Olufsson," Karen said.

Her dad winked at her.

"You know what I'm talking about.

They're trapped in the bank, in there a few days holding the women hostage. They come out, three of the women say they're in love with this Olufsson."

"I wasn't a hostage," Karen said.

"We were in the trunk together maybe a half hour."

"I don't know, this Foley sounds a lot like Olufsson. Talk to his ex-wife, see what she says about him."

"I know what he is, an habitual offender, a con."

"Before, you said he was laid-back, confident, like you admired him."

Karen watched her dad bite through the crust of the French bread, eating his cheese and jelly sandwich, making her want one. She watched him sip his coffee, head lowered over the table. He looked somewhat like a short Walter Matthau. Once when he had a subject under surveillance and was waiting in his car, two women rushed up to him saying, "My God, it's Walter Matthau!" The subject came out of a bar and drove off before her dad could get away from the two women.

He said, "I know what I wanted to ask you. How come there's no mention of Glenn Michaels in any of the news stories?"

"Burdon says Glenn isn't anyone's business but theirs, the Bureau. I told him what Glenn said in the car about working on a score up north, a big one. Burdon wanted to know where up north. I said, well, Glenn mentioned freezing his ass off in Detroit last November. You could try there. This morning he called to say no one named Glenn Michaels flew from here to anywhere in November. I said maybe he drove. Burdon said don't worry about it."

"He didn't say, "Don't worry your pretty head'?"

"Yeah, he did."

"And that makes you want to kick him in the crotch."

"No, it makes me want to bring in Glenn. I already want Foley. Buddy, if he's around."

"Pour me a half a cup, would you, please. And tell me what we know about Buddy."

"Not much," Karen said, getting up. She came back to the table with the coffee, served her dad and sat down again.

"He's about Foley's age, has a sister who used to be a nun, but we don't know where she lives. He and Foley were both at Lompoc and probably met there. And that's where Glenn got to know them. Burdon's gonna call the prison, see if they can come up with a name, someone who was a friend of Foley's."