The fox is not the only crazy one in this high-adrenalin account of the criminal career of Garrett Trapnell who hit the front page in 1972 when he tried to hijack a 707 from LA to New York but instead got shot and captured by the FBI. This restless psychopath--he'd crisscross the country as aimlessly as small-town hot fodders cruise up and down Main Street--had been in and out of jails and mental institutions more times than the reader can keep track of. His career was made up of bank robberies, jewel heists, check forgeries, stolen cars and planes and huge purchases on credit cards not his own. Somehow he managed to spend little time in the can by pleading or feigning insanity until the trial was over. This happened often enough to make state, federal and foreign authorities look like fools, but it didn't bother the women whom Trapnell bedded and married in droves. The author makes a token effort at investigating the uses of psychiatry in the courtroom; Trapnell is a walking argument against the insanity plea. But the writing is rushed and maudlin (""He saw something deeply troubled in himself that he could not ask this pure, devoted girl to share"") and full of nickel-and-dime Freudianisms which tend to undermine the author's premise. He doesn't say where he got his facts, but if they're from the horse's mouth there's every reason to think that this consummate con man is at it again.