The Debt Collector

by Chris Taylor

  It was a testament to Jacob’s strength, courage and determination that he’d gone on to become a doctor—and not just any doctor, but a well-respected emergency room doctor in Sydney’s most prestigious hospital. Hannah could only assume the hospital hierarchy were aware of Jacob’s criminal history. Such record checks were now mandatory across most of Australia. Despite the fact that he was a convicted criminal, the powers that be had seen something in him that caused them to overlook his past and focus on his future. His success was certainly an achievement that most people couldn’t help but admire.

  Was she one of those people? The truth was, she didn’t know and right here and now, she wasn’t brave enough to find out. Turning abruptly, she headed out of the room and stumbled blindly back into the staff restroom. With her breath coming fast, she splashed water on her face and forced herself to calm down.

  Toby would be confused about her abrupt departure. No doubt he was wondering right now what had happened. One moment they’d been having a conversation about his brother and the next she’d disappeared out the door. She needed to get back into the embalming room and finish the work she’d started. Pack Kevin Lamb’s orifices, wash him down, dress him, make him up; comb his tangle of curls and get him ready for viewing. And then do it all over again with the other two clients who waited in the fridge.

  With a sigh, she patted dry her damp cheeks and reapplied her bright red lipstick. Slipping the tube of gloss back into her pocket, she glanced at her reflection and was satisfied with what she saw. Her long hair was still contained in its neat ponytail, tucked up inside her surgical cap. The expression in her eyes was a little wilder than usual, but she’d get a handle on her emotions if it killed her. She’d force thoughts of Jacob Black and their shared history to the furthest recesses of her mind and use all the skill she possessed to keep them there.

  * * *

  Bobby shifted his weight from one foot to the other and glanced over his shoulder. The alley was dark and smelled like rotten garbage. A trash bin, overflowing with food scraps and other detritus discarded by the Chinese restaurant on the ground floor of the old apartment building, stood nearby. The sound of scurrying and scratching snagged his attention and he shifted his weight again. He hated rats. They’d almost overrun some of the older prisons he’d spent time in over the years. He’d had enough of rats for a lifetime.

  He should have had enough of prisons, too and he had—but no matter how he tried, he couldn’t shake his drug habit. He was barely thirty and yet he looked a decade older and he had nobody to blame but himself.

  Plenty would point to his disadvantaged childhood as an excuse for what had happened, as a way to explain the inch-thick criminal history. They’d murmur and shake their head and offer him sympathy, but the whole thing didn’t mean shit.

  The only person responsible for the fuck-up of his life was Robert Grace: not his father or his mother or even his sad excuse for an uncle. It was Bobby’s fault, fair and square, and that’s why he found himself hiding in a dark alley, waiting for the arrival of his dealer and shaking with anticipation for the relief he’d shortly feel.

  He’d stolen the money from a drawer of his uncle’s desk. He’d been overjoyed to spy the wad of bills hidden beneath a pile of papers. His uncle was always leaving cash lying around. It was like he had so much of it that he couldn’t keep track. It made Bobby sick.

  He’d spent a couple of seconds wondering why his uncle hadn’t bothered to lock the drawer, but those thoughts were quickly swept away by the knowledge he suddenly had the money, not only to pay back his dealer, but to purchase enough ice to get him through the next few weeks. The waiting was killing him.

  His thoughts drifted back to his uncle and his lip curled up in a sneer. Who the fuck did the man think he was? Max Grace pretended to be the guardian angel, swooping in and saving Bobby and others like him from themselves, when all the time he was doing nothing but lining his own purse.

  Bobby knew all about it. He’d overheard the old man extolling the virtues of the ten thousand dollar coffin to his clients when the five thousand dollar version would do perfectly well. He took advantage of people when they were at their lowest—grieving for a dead relative or friend. It wasn’t right and Max had no place judging Bobby and finding him lacking.

  He thought of the latest addition to the Grace funeral home and shook his head. He was good with faces and he was sure he’d seen Toby Black somewhere before. It niggled on the edge of his memory, as if any moment he’d make the connection between the name and the face, but the years of self-inflicted abuse interfered with his brain processes and the memory had faded. He cursed beneath his breath.

  Still, what his uncle did with his time was of no concern to him. As long as the old man didn’t come across all high and mighty with him again. Now that he knew what his uncle was up to, there was no way he was taking any of his shit. Max was no better than Bobby: a common thief.

  “Hey, dick face! You’d better have my fucking money or I’ll slit your fucking throat.”

  The words erupted out of the darkness and a moment later, the mean face of Bobby’s dealer appeared. With shaking hands, Bobby offered the pock-faced, weasel-eyed asshole the wad of cash.

  “Here’s what I owe, plus another two hundred. What have you got?”

  Rat chuckled and the sound of it grated on Bobby’s nerves. He glanced around him, quickly counting the number of bodyguards the dealer had brought with him. There were six of them this time, all broad shouldered and hunched over, their faces concealed beneath dark hoodies. Bobby was no lightweight and had honed his fighting skills in jail, but still, he’d come without a weapon and couldn’t bear the thought of engaging in another meaningless battle. He was through with that kind of shit.

  He raised his hands in a sign of surrender. “I’m not looking for any trouble,” he said, hearing the weariness in his voice. “Take the money and give me the shit and we’ll all go back to where we came from. How does that sound?”

  The dealer stepped closer and shoved his ugly face in Bobby’s space. Fetid breath filled the air and it was all Bobby could do not to choke.

  “Don’t go givin’ me fuckin’ orders, you fuckwit,” Rat growled low in his throat. “I’m the only one who gives orders and don’t you forget it.”

  The man snatched the wad of bills out of Bobby’s hand. After counting it, he shoved it straight into the pocket of his filthy jeans. Spinning on his heel, he stomped away.

  “Hey!” Bobby protested and then clamped his mouth shut. He hadn’t spent most of his life in prison without knowing when to keep his mouth shut.

  Rat’s hired thugs stared at him hard, their uncompromising expressions leaving him in no doubt that another protest at their boss’ behavior wouldn’t be tolerated. Taking a step backward, Bobby’s shoulders slumped. The bodyguards smirked.

  “That’s it, big fella. Get the fuck outta here,” one of them snarled.

  “But—” The protest burst from Bobby’s throat.

  A vicious punch to his gut sent the air whooshing from his lungs. Bent over, he gasped for breath. The sound of the thugs departing amidst chuckles and guffaws brought tears to Bobby’s eyes, along with a feeling of desperation that he wouldn’t find the relief he sought that night.

  * * *

  Jacob finished up the notes he was writing on the chart of the patient he’d just discharged, and sighed. It had been a busy day in the ED and he was looking forward to calling it a night. The sun had set an hour ago and night had settled in.

  The automatic doors that led into the emergency room opened and closed with regular monotony, bringing with them a swish of cold air. It wasn’t a time of year that he relished. Winter brought with it too many bad memories of jail cells with thin, government-issue blankets and cold concrete walls.

  The phone inside his shirt pocket vibrated against his chest. He tugged it out and glanced at the screen.

  Lane.

  A surge of anticipation went through him. I
t had been a fortnight since he’d spoken to his brother. He wondered if Lane had discovered anything about the death of Edward Sutton.

  “Lane, how are you doing?”

  “Great, bro. For the first time in months, I slept through the whole night. Didn’t get up once for the kids. Not once, do you hear? It’s got to be some kind of record.”

  Jacob smiled, silently sympathizing with his brother’s plight. Living with young children wasn’t for the faint of heart. Though he didn’t have any personal experience, he knew enough about babies and toddlers to know the first few years could be tough—on everyone.

  “Anyway, enough about that,” Lane continued. “I wanted to call and fill you in on what I’ve found out.”

  Jacob’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping or even expecting to hear, but all of a sudden, he was tense.

  “Is there any cause for worry?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Lane replied, “but there’s definitely something weird going on. Christopher Lowrey was buried shortly after his death, but Samantha Coleridge was able to do a second autopsy on Edward Sutton. In her opinion, the trajectory of the leg fractures suffered by Sutton indicate he was pushed from behind with some force. She’s reversed the earlier decision.”

  Jacob’s heart thumped and his mouth went dry. “You mean, it wasn’t an accident?”

  Lane’s voice turned grim. “That’s exactly what I’m saying. And there’s more. I made some enquires with the General & Life insurance company. They confirmed they have policies in the name of Christopher Lowrey and Edward Sutton owned by the same person and very recently, this person took out another policy—on our brother.”

  Jacob’s head spun. It was too much for him to take in. With a ragged breath, he gathered his courage and asked the final question. “Who owns the policies?”

  It was a long moment before Lane responded. “Robert Grace.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Dear Diary,

  Damn! Damn! Damn! How could I be so stupid? How could I have forgotten to get rid of the body? It’s so easy for me to collect it. I work in a funeral home. I collect bodies every day and nobody thinks anything of it. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! Now it’s been drawn to someone’s attention, someone who’s curious about a man who used to work for the Max Grace Funeral Home.

  I can’t afford to attract the attention of anyone, least of all the police. Dear God, please, not the police. For years I’ve been patient. I’ve waited and watched and prayed. And finally my time came and everything fell into place. Now it’s all unraveling and I can’t figure out what to do.

  * * *

  Hannah swiped at the faint sheen of perspiration that had formed across her forehead and bent to collect her bag from the floor of the university gym she liked to frequent as often as time allowed. She usually made a Zumba class at least two or three times a week. It kept her fit and flexible and helped her clear her mind. It was a welcome escape from the daily grind. Today was no different.

  The muffled ringing of her cell phone snagged her attention. Digging through her bag, she found it buried under her towel. She pulled it out and checked the screen.

  Jacob.

  Her heart skipped a beat. It had been so long since she’d seen him, she’d given up on hearing from him again. The thought had brought her more than a measure of relief. But now he was calling her and she was curious to know why. Knowing she shouldn’t, but unable to help herself, she answered the call.

  “Jacob, what can I do for you?”

  There was a moment of hesitation before he answered. “Hannah, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

  Her stomach clenched with nerves. What kind of bad news? He wasn’t in contact with her parents and as far as she was aware, he barely knew most of her friends. She was conjuring up all kinds of situations when he spoke again.

  “It’s about Robert—Bobby—Grace. I… I’m afraid I’ve led you astray.”

  Hannah frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?” she asked as she slung her gym bag across her shoulder and made her way out of the building.

  “I vouched for The Bobster’s good character and it appears I’ve made a mistake.”

  Her frown deepened. Nerves once again danced in her stomach. “How so?” she asked through lips that were suddenly dry.

  “Lane spoke to your friend, Samantha, and she agreed to do a second autopsy on Edward Sutton. Fortunately, his body was still at the morgue. Samantha came to the conclusion his death was no accident.”

  Hannah gasped. “You mean, he didn’t fall down the stairs?”

  “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Samantha’s of the opinion he was too intoxicated to climb any stairs and his injuries indicate he was pushed. It appears Edward Sutton was murdered.”

  Hannah barely had time to digest the news when Jacob spoke again.

  “That’s not all. Lane did a little more digging. He discovered General & Life has three life insurance policies owned by Robert Grace.”

  Surprise shot through her. “Three?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Jacob responded, his voice grim. “You already know of the one connected to Edward Sutton, but they also had one out on Christopher Lowrey.”

  He paused and Hannah waited impatiently for him to continue. When he didn’t, she said, “And the third?”

  “It’s Toby. The bastard’s taken out a life insurance policy on my brother.”

  Hannah went icy cold; then fire raged through her veins. Right from the start, there had been something about Bobby Grace she neither liked nor trusted and her instincts had proven correct. It made her ill to think he could be responsible for the deaths of two of her colleagues and to think he might even have Toby in his sights. It was too awful to contemplate.

  “What are the police doing? Have they arrested him?” she asked, oblivious to the crowds of pedestrians and the noise of the traffic streaming past her as she walked to the parking station to pick up her car.

  “No, they don’t have any evidence he was with Edward or Christopher the nights either of them died. The police need to find a witness or something else tying him to the crimes. According to Lane, the existence of the insurance policies isn’t enough.”

  “But, three benefiting the same person? And what about Christopher? Doesn’t Lane think it strange Bobby has a policy on another former employee who also died suspiciously? Surely the police can’t believe it’s a coincidence. And why would Bobby have life insurance on your brother, other than to cash in on it at some point? None of it makes sense unless he’s up to no good.”

  “You and I might suspect that Lowrey’s death also appears suspicious in light of what we know, but you have to remember, his death was ruled an accident by the coroner’s office and as far as I know, the guy’s long buried.”

  Hannah suddenly recalled the day Max had asked if she’d embalm Christopher and prepare him for burial. It appeared he had no one else to see to the funeral. Max said he’d cover the cost and Hannah had agreed to deal with the body. Her shoulders slumped on a sigh.

  “You’re right. Max asked Bobby to collect Christopher’s body from the morgue and bring him to the funeral home. Apparently he had no family to speak of. We were the ones who buried him.” Another thought occurred to her. “Did Samantha carry out the autopsy on Christopher?”

  “No, they were both done by another pathologist by the name of Charles Venutti.”

  Hannah frowned. Sam had often complained about that work colleague and the decided lack of focus and discipline he brought to his job. “Is that why she agreed to do a second autopsy on Edward?” she asked.

  “I’m not sure. Lane didn’t say, but there must be some reason it was done again.”

  “Too bad we buried Christopher. I’d like to have Sam’s opinion on the way he died.”

  “Yeah, well, all might not be lost. Lane’s going to keep investigating. He told me a claim for the insurance money over Lowrey’s life has already been submitted, presumably by Robert Grace.
Lane’s going to confirm this with the insurer and then use it as evidence to petition the court to exhume Lowrey’s body.”

  “Just as well Max doesn’t own a crematorium,” she added dryly. “Any evidence of wrongdoing would have gone up in smoke.”

  “Unlucky for The Bobster that he doesn’t.”

  “I’m sorry, I know he was your…friend.”

  “Don’t be sorry. We all make our own choices in life.”

  Hannah arrived at her Mazda and unlocked it with the remote. Climbing behind the wheel, she started the ignition and let the car kit pick up her phone.

  “Are you still there?” Jacob asked.

  “Yes, sorry, I just started my car. The call switched over to Bluetooth.”

  “Where are you?” Jacob asked.

  “I’m just leaving the gym.”

  “Where’s Toby?”

  “He wanted to go into the city. We left work together. I dropped him off at the bus station. He’s going to meet me at home.”

  Jacob’s voice lowered. “Keep an eye on him for me, Hannah. He’s so trusting and naïve. It’s easy for people to take advantage of him. I bet he doesn’t have a clue about the extent of evil that might be lurking around the funeral home. We’ve been apart for too many years. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to him now that we’ve found each other again. He… He means a great deal to me.”

  Jacob’s voice hitched and Hannah swallowed a lump in her throat. “You’re lucky to have each other,” she murmured, her voice husky with emotion. “I’m an only child.”

  “That’s right, I remember now. You wouldn’t believe it, but sometimes I used to envy you back in high school. I couldn’t imagine how cool it would be to have your own room and never have to fight over the best spot on the couch or who was in charge of the remote.”