11.
 Marie was not surprised when an FBI man visited.
"I wish I had known last night," said Chris, Linda's boyfriend, trying to impress the older cop. The FBI man sat with them at Marie's pool. Marie and Linda brought glasses and colas.
"I've been close a couple of times," the FBI man said. "He barely got away from us a couple of weeks ago. Seems he had a fling with a married woman just across the state line, not knowing her father and husband were in the Mob. He stole some credit cards and punched the father. One of them, the woman or Lou, shot the husband to death. She says Lou did it, but we think she did it and is trying to pin it on Lou."
Marie shuddered, thinking how Lou had slept in her bed. Charlie. Lou. What did it matter? "Was he ever very violent?" she asked, afraid to hear the answer.
"Oh yes," the FBI man said. "But only when threatened. He can be like a cornered animal. We think he may have killed someone, but he was very desperate. Self-defense. He's in and out, you know, if you get my meaning. If he only knew that he could stop running..."
"Why is he—?"
"The way he is? Who knows. He snapped somewhere along the way, long ago. His parents left him in a dumpster as a baby. He was raised in foster homes. He was beaten and raped, and one of his foster sisters was murdered by their foster father. It goes on and on from there. Nobody will ever get inside that shell."
Marie felt a mix of hurt and pity and anger. "He goes from woman to woman like this?"
"I'm afraid so," the FBI man said. "Last time he escaped with nothing but his pants and shoes. This time he's got a nice lead on us. It may be months before we get close again."
"I should have known," Marie said. "He was getting cold and distant the last few days."
"That's a lifetime in love for this bird," the FBI man said.
"How sad," Marie said suddenly. "He talked in his sleep lately, too."
"What did he say?" Chris asked anxiously.
"He was tossing in his sleep. Reaching out for something with his hand. Kept saying a woman's name, over and over, like she was something special to him."
The FBI man pulled out a pad. "I'll write that down."
"Tell us, Mother," Linda said impatiently.
Marie said what the stranger had said in his sleep. The FBI man wrote it down, put his pad away, and shook his head. "That doesn't help much, but it's a tiny clue if we can ever find this mysterious woman."
Marie tried to remember not only what he'd said, but the tone in which he'd said it: "He kept saying her name over and over again, like a drowning man, or someone deeply in love. Jane Allison, Jane Allison."
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