Can a working-class Mexican-American Deputy US Marshal and a millionaire's daughter turned bandit become bosom pals? Yes, they can--and Janey and Patty hit it off just beautifully despite those damn handcuffs Janey had to slap on her friend Patty whenever they rode to court. Deputy Jimenez, over the course of fourteen months spent guarding the heiress-outlaw, became her biggest champion, and before the book is over the girls (Janey's 24, Patty's 23) are sipping drinks at the Mark Hopkins Jimenez sees Patty Hearst as the ultimate victim--of the brutalizing, brainwashing SLA, of her rich-girl background (some people wanted to punish the granddaughter for the sins of the grandfather), of generational conflicts, and even of her own expensive lawyers: Patty appeared as an expressionless zombie at her trial because her lawyers, fearing ""frivolity,"" had forbidden her to smile or laugh. In fact, the Deputy is ready to avow that her ""emotional inaccessibility""--which alienated the jury--came from the 57 days the SLA kept her in a dark closet, rand when not being photographed or grilled Patty could be as playful and bubbly as anyone. Voluntary sex with Cinque and her revolutionary ""lover"" Willie Wolfe? Impossible! Jimenez knows for a fact that Patty went for ""Mr. Straight"" and loathed her abductors. And though the jury convicted her, Jimenez reports that at their ""reunion"" a year later, all would have voted for acquittal. Rather surprisingly, the Deputy (who scoffs at charges that she basked in Patty's limelight) has constructed a highly believable, if somewhat trite, portrait of the compliant, frightened, but not unlikable girl behind the mask.