BILL EDGAR is the Coffin Confessor – a one-of-a-kind professional, a man on a mission to make good on these last requests on behalf of his soon-to-be-deceased clients.

In his second book, The Afterlife Confessional, he offers a fascinating account of the things he’s witnessed and learned as the ‘Coffin Confessor’ – the bizarre and beautiful ways we live and love, the finality of death and the power of legacy, and how letting go can sometimes be the first step to living on.

A private investigator with a haunting past, Bill Edgar’s life was never destined to be ordinary. Rising to international fame as the ‘Coffin Confessor’ – the man who crashes funerals on behalf of the deceased, giving voice to their last wishes – Bill dismantled many of the assumptions we hold about truth, dignity and the business of dying.

Swindlers, cheaters, vultures, liars and con-artists – there isn’t a musty corner of the human soul Bill hasn’t confronted. Loved and loathed in equal measure, his only concern is being the caretaker of the secrets and desires his clients have entrusted to him. Shame and outrage, healing and comfort are left up to those left behind.

But it’s a request from one woman to hand-deliver a bottle of wine to her husband on the anniversary of her death that raises deeper questions: What do we make out of the handful of days we’re given? If hate and injustice are so hard to bury, why does love have a knack for triumphing? Are the most profound acts in life sometimes the most quiet ones?

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EXTRACT

Another man’s grave

Let’s start my story where most people end theirs, lying in a grave.

Flat on my back, I looked up and could see the colours change where the gravedigger had busted through the various layers of soil. At the bottom it was rocky and lifeless, followed by lighter dirt packed less tightly, right up to the rich topsoil. At the very top, eight feet above me, I could see the odd blade of grass peeking over the edge. It framed a blue sky with clouds scudding across my window to the world.

It was a hot and windy day but the soil beneath my back was actually pretty comfortable. Damp but not wet, cool against the oppressive heat. Not bad, I thought to myself. I could get used to this.

But let’s rewind a bit.

My name is Bill Edgar. Better known these days by my professional title, the Coffin Confessor. Among other things, I crash funerals and deliver eulogies on behalf of the deceased. It’s a job that I sort of fell into. One I never expected to have. Mainly because it didn’t exist before I started doing it.

How I got into it is a long story. I won’t go into too much detail here because I’ve already written a book about it – which you might have already bought and read – and I don’t charge my clients twice for one service. I’ve got a code. A flat fee. Fair price. No refunds. I haven’t been asked for one yet.

It all started when I told a dying man, Graham, that I’d crash his funeral for him. Graham had vultures in his family and a toxic best mate who was trying to get it on with his missus. There was nobody who would tell the truth of Graham’s life after his death, and he joked that I may as well be the one to do it. That joke grew into a plan – to actually crash his funeral and deliver his preferred eulogy. I attended as one of the mourners, sat among his family and friends, and at the designated time when his socalled best mate was doing the official eulogy, I stood up. ‘Sit down, shut up, or fuck off,’ I began. ‘The man in the coffin has something to say. And this is it. “You know, friend of mine, you’ve been trying to screw my wife while I’m on my deathbed. I couldn’t get up. I couldn’t yell. I couldn’t kick. I couldn’t scream. I couldn’t defend my wife or my family. But I found someone who could . . .”’

And that was that. A reporter heard about the incident, wrote a story about me that went viral, and then all sorts of media started approaching.

The job has grown a lot since then. I don’t even know how you’d describe what I do now. I guess it’s an allinclusive service fulfilling people’s last wishes. A concierge service for those who are desperate and dying and need one final request to make their passage a little more special. I’m a bit like the bloke in the lobby of a fancy hotel who knows how to open doors and make things happen in a strange city – but I do it for people checking out for good who have a final piece of baggage they need handled.

The baggage is as unique as the people who engage my services. Sometimes I’m spilling a longheld secret. Other times I’m visiting the homes the dying have left behind to destroy evidence and make sure their secrets stay that way. Sometimes it’s taking revenge on someone who’s wronged them, or seeking forgiveness from those they’ve wronged.

No two requests are the same. But there are similarities. We all leave this world with similar regrets. As some cunt whose name escapes me once said, ‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’ Buried, burned, whatever happens to us, we all end up in the ground eventually. Most people die with baggage from mistakes they made. Or mistakes they wish they’d made. Regrets about what people didn’t do are just as common as regrets about what they did do. Many, many people check out of this briefstay hotel wishing they’d sampled more widely from the buffet.

Ancient cultures believed that life’s two motivating forces were sex and death. They weren’t wrong. A good proportion of people I’ve helped had fucked up their lives through sex. Falling in love with the wrong person. Or too many at once. I’d also include money on that ‘motivating forces’ list. Throw in religion. Family too. Sometimes a combo of both of those things. The old onetwo punch of being on the outer of a religious family is going to have you on the ropes from an early age. A lot of funerals I’ve crashed have been for people who’ve abandoned their churches. Or, more accurately, who’ve been abandoned by them.

So I’ve heard it all. Final requests that have made people cry their guts out. Or chuck their guts up. Terrible, terrifying, perverted things. I don’t mind. Keeping an open mind is a good trait for anyone to have; for me it’s a professional necessity.

Confessing your deepest darkest secrets isn’t for everybody, but we all die with at least one big one. Most take it to the grave. Some think it’s not worth it to confess. Others believe leaving a shit storm behind will only hurt those they love. Even more have been wronged so badly by the people who were supposed to have loved them that they die without ever speaking up. For all of them it’s easier to avoid confrontation and let the innocent go meekly to the grave.

But this just allows the guilty to remain free.

I’ve never been backwards in coming forwards. I always speak my mind and confront those who wrong me. That’s not for everyone; most people don’t want that sort of aggro. It’s not that I seek it out, but when it comes knocking, I’ll gladly open the door.

So I’m happy to lend a hand. As I say, I’m not afraid of confrontation. Thrive on it, in fact. What started very early as a defence mechanism against childhood dangers has become something I’ve used my whole professional life – as a fighter, then a private investigator, and now as the Coffin Confessor. More and more, I’ve found myself fulfilling the role of someone who helps people confront their demons while they die. How that happens has changed a fair bit in the past few years. And every case is different.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Bill Edgar is the one they call the ‘Coffin Confessor’ – he’s a successful businessman, counsellor, author and one of Australia’s leading private detectives, who’s known for doing what most lawyers, accountants and professionals won’t, can’t or fear: speaking the truth of those silenced. See his book The Coffin Confessor.