Invasion of Privacy Read Online Free PDF Page A

about the call. “He knew before.”
    “Pardon me?”
    “Joe knew something was wrong.”
    Bennett shifted on his chair, alert. “I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at.”
    “He called me. He let me know he was in trouble.” Mary began to cry. There was no stopping it. No amount of will or anger or shame or anything could arrest her tears. “I missed the call, but he left a voicemail. I think he wanted me to help him.”
    “He called you to say he was in trouble?”
    “It’s my fault. I didn’t take the call.”
    “Don’t say that. You’re not to blame.”
    “I could have—”
    “Joe knew what he was doing.”
    The comment offended Mary. Six words to transfer the blame onto her husband’s shoulders. Six words to wipe the FBI’s hands clean of all culpability. “Yes,” she said. “He did. And he’d never put himself into a compromising position with someone who was armed. Not when he was alone. Would you?”
    Bennett started to answer, then bit back his words. “This isn’t the time.”
    “Who was his backup?”
    “He didn’t have one.”
    “So who called the ambulance? Who found him? What aren’t you telling me?”
    Bennett ignored her question. “What did the message say?”
    “Listen for yourself.” Mary looked inside her purse but didn’t see her phone. “I left it in the car.”
    But she didn’t need the phone to recall the message. Snippets of Joe’s words still rang in her ear.
    Mary. It’s me. Pick up. Please. You there? Oh, Christ. It’s my damnfault. It never made sense coming all the way out here. Listen to me. Everything’s copacetic, baby. You hear me? If you get this, call Sid. Tell him I didn’t get it. Tell him it’s key that he keeps trying. He’s one of the good guys. He needs to know. I love you, Mary. I love you and the girls more than anything. Tell the girls. Tell them…ah hell—
    The message ended abruptly and without a goodbye.
    “Mary?” Don Bennett stood closer, his gentle voice unable to temper his demanding glare.
    “He said that it didn’t make sense coming out there, that he didn’t get it, and that he loved me and the girls.”
    “Get what?”
    “He didn’t say.”
    “That’s it? You said he knew something was wrong.”
    Everything’s copacetic, baby
.
    Copacetic. It was their secret word for when everything was going wrong, when things were not what they were supposed to be, when everything was, as Joe liked to say, FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition.
    Mary laughed, a bubble of joy punching through her sorrow as she remembered when he’d first used the term. It was on their honeymoon, a three-day high-speed adventure in Jamaica. They’d arrived at their hotel only to discover that Joe’s reservation had vanished, and so had his wallet, somewhere between the airport and the hotel. Mary had her debit card, but it was good for only $200. They’d ended up at a rundown B&B in Montego Bay, sharing a single bed and a bathroom without towels and dining on mangos and papayas from the roadside vendors, with a few Red Stripes thrown in to help them forget their hunger. Instead of sun there was rain. Halfway through their second day, the manager kicked them out for making too much noise…laughing, not the other kind. She had a picture permanently framed in her mind of Joe standing by the highway next to their pile of bags, thumb out, hitchhiking to the airport in a driving Caribbean downpour. And his words accompanied by a big ol’ shit-eating grin. “Everything’s copacetic.”
    Mary’s smile faded. There were other times he had used the expression. Times when things hadn’t been copacetic for either of them.
    She came back to the present. There was no mistaking his meaning this time. Fear. Desperation. Anxiety.
    “Do you know anyone named Sid?” she asked. “Or Sidney?”
    “Did Joe mention that name?”
    Mary didn’t like the eagerness in Bennett’s eyes. “I’m confused. It’s something else. I’m