My partner and I had just pronounced a man dead. The cause of death wasn’t obvious, as he had been found in bed, but there were some signs it could have been a suicide. The building manager had let us into the apartment after calling 911 because mail and newspapers had been accumulating for the apartment. He knew the person as a “good man, kind man” and was sad to find that he had died. We had some paperwork to fill out while we waited for the police to come.

As I wandered around the home looking for ID, I tried to learn more about the enigmatic man who had died by studying his tastes and possessions. It was a difficult endeavor as his house looked as if it had been cleaned out of many items. There were outlines on the bare walls where framed pictures or art had been. There were empty areas that appeared as if furniture had been removed. A cabinet with a display case was empty. His refrigerator contained half a container of orange juice and an egg. There was exactly one plate, one fork, and one knife in the kitchen.

We found a box of papers full of medical bills and hoping to get some information on our Mr. Peterson, we flipped through it. The papers, though were all his wife’s. They were from various medical institutions across the country. The Petersons, it appeared, had traveled far and wide to find a cure for the rare cancer that Mrs. Peterson had been diagnosed with. It also appeared to have been unsuccessful.

There were some scattered photographs showing the couple in happier times, and some photos showed what the apartment had looked like with art on the walls and more furniture. There were photos of the attractive couple at several parties and fundraisers. They had hosted several parties themselves where people were dressed in formal wear and holding up champagne glasses to the cameraman.

Mr. Peterson had received an award from a place called H. L. Financial and he appeared in one photo dressed as Santa for the H. L. Financial Christmas party. As sad as it was to see these brief glimpses into his life it made him more human and substituted for the personality that we would never meet.

The building manager came back, bringing the police with him. He told us the story of a man who had everything and then lost it. “When his wife died, so did he, he was never the same.” He told us that the Petersons were a nice couple who tipped well and gave good bonuses at holidays.

But when Mrs. Peterson was diagnosed with cancer they tried everything to save her. The building manager told us that Mr. Peterson missed a few weeks of work and even though he had been a top earner, they fired him the first chance they got and replaced him with a relative of his manager. He told us that Mr. Peterson believed they were looking for the first excuse to get rid of someone in his position so they could install the nephew. “Just evil, those people are,” he told us, shaking his head. When he lost his job he lost his health insurance. As the bills piled up he sold everything he could. “Then his wife died and he became depressed. He had a hard time getting a job. All his friends left him alone. That made him more depressed. And now this.”

In an effort to make a notification the police decided to play Mr. Peterson’s answering machine messages. There were 47 of them.

“Mr. Peterson, your payment is two months past due. Please call us about making a payment.” Several messages were from random companies requesting payments. But interspersed with those requests for money were requests from H. L. Financial, who apparently financed his mortgage.

“Mr. Peterson, Joe, this is Tony, look I used the money I owed you to pay down some of the payment. Please, just send something, anything and I can hold off Mr. Thomas.”

“Hey, Joe..this is Tony again. Mr. Thomas isn’t having it. Please call me at home.”

“Mr. Peterson, your application to refinance was rejected. Please make a payment as soon as possible.”

“Joe? It’s Tony again. Please call me, I tried to talk to Mr. Thomas again but he’s submitting the papers. I know it’s messed up. I’m sorry. I tried.”

All the calls were demands for money. No friends called to check in. No family members asked how he was doing. It was just bill collectors and most of them were from the company he had worked for. He had won awards earning money on their behalf and they couldn’t cut any slack to the guy they fired when his wife got sick. With my partner and I and the two cops we just silently listened to the messages, passing looks of disgust between us. Things got worse when we heard the messages from Mr. Thomas himself.

“Joe. Come on. At least call. Ignoring this isn’t going to make it go away.”

“Joe, my hands are tied. We have to move forward.”

“Look, Joe, I don’t want to say I told you so but eight months of chasing these specialists, what were you thinking? You should have listened to me. I at least told you the truth. These doctors told you differently and now what? All they did was cost you millions of dollars for nothing. Pathetic.” Wow. Who were these people? Were people really this cruel?

“Joe? It’s Lee again. Look, I’ll delay the paperwork for two weeks. Two weeks, it’s the best I can do. I’m only doing it because everyone here is giving me a hard time about my nephew, but that’s not the reason and you know it. Bet you’ll need to call me now. Well, you’re welcome.”

“Come one, Joe. Not one dime! Call me up. I need to tell you what’s going on.”

There were only a few more messages left on the machine when the phone suddenly rang. We all looked at each other. My partner smiled and without hesitation, picked up the phone. He put it on speaker.

“Joe? Joe? Is that you?” It was Mr. Thomas.

“Yeah, it’s me,” said my partner pretending to be our DOA. “You’ve got a lot of nerve calling me. With all I did for you. And now your ‘hands are tied’. You’re just an evil little man.”

“What? Joe? Come on, you were great, I told you as much. But you took all that time off and we were falling behind our numbers. If only you had just stuck it out. I get that you think your wife needed you but we needed you too, probably more.” He sounded almost apologetic.

My partner continued the offensive, on behalf of Mr. Peterson. “And how’s it working out now, Lee? That nephew of yours, he’s doing just great isn’t he? Everyone knows he’s going to run your division down to the ground. You know it too, you admitted as much. All because you couldn’t give me time with my DYING wife. You know how that makes you look?”

“We sent flowers! Didn’t you get them?”

“Yeah, Lee. We got them. That’s so much better than a refinance offer. Or a job. My dead wife says thanks a lot. Look here, Lee. You’re not taking my house. Just back off”

“I can’t stop the foreclosure. It’s too late. You should have listened to me,” he quickly sounded smug.

“Well, there, Lee. Good luck. The only way you’re gonna get this place over my dead body.”

Lee Thomas seemed to hesitate a moment.

“Do you hear me, Lee?” yelled my partner. “Over my dead body.”

We all applauded as my partner hung up. I liked to imagine the scenarios in my head of Mr. Thomas finding out the circumstances of the foreclosure and being filled with guilt and remorse at last.