Nothing Good Happens After Midnight: A Suspense Magazine Anthology

by Jeffery Deaver

  “Find a way inside.”

  That proved easy. The large double doors were closed but the lock hung loosely and unlatched in the metal loop. The door squeaked softly as Floyd pushed it open, then closed, once they were inside. The air seemed musty and laced with a slightly sweet, almost medicinal odor.

  Eddie swept the interior with his flashlight. One large room, no loft, a series of tables lined up cross-ways in the center. Open bins filled with plastic barrels and stacks of cardboard boxes, alternated with tall lockers along the left wall. To the right, a massive industrial mixer sat near a low gas stove topped with four metallic stock pots. Along the far wall, shelves held rows of Dr. Bell’s Body Tonic.

  “What the hell?” Eddie said.

  “You don’t think…?” Floyd fell silent as if he couldn’t finish his thought.

  Eddie walked among the tables. A few bone fragments and what looked like strips of leather lay on one. An electric meat grinder and two stainless steel blenders on another. A black plastic jar labeled “Bone Meal” caught Eddie’s eye. He lifted it, shook it, spun the lid off. Floyd directed his flashlight beam inside. A fine, grayish-white powder.

  “What the hell is all this?” Floyd asked.

  Eddie did a slow three-sixty before responding. “Looks to me like old Doc Bell is grinding up bodies and putting them in his tonic.”

  Dr. Bell’s Body Tonic was famous. The drug store downtown had an entire shelf devoted to the various mixtures. Each touted a specific health benefit. Printed right on the label in big, red letters. Some made your brain better; others built muscles or cleaned up your liver or kidneys. Still others were for fevers or bowel regularity or to build stronger bones. Dr. Bell’s stuff could fix your whole damn body.

  “Your mom used to give us that shit,” Floyd said.

  “I know.” Eddie scratched an ear.

  “What are we going to do?” Floyd asked.

  “Ain’t much we can do. I mean, we been stealing bodies. Not like we can tell another living soul.”

  “Exactly.”

  The voice came from behind them. The cousins spun that way. Dr. Thomas Bell and Antoine stood in the doorway. Eddie hadn’t even heard it open.

  “We was just curious,” Eddie said.

  “Like the cat?” Bell said. “Didn’t work out well for him, did it?”

  “We don’t mean no harm,” Floyd said. “And we ain’t going to say a word. We was just…” His voice trailed off.

  “Just what?” Bell said.

  Eddie stared at him, racking his brain for something to say, something that would get them out of this. He came up empty.

  “Looks like we have ourselves a couple of fresh ones,” Antoine said.

  Eddie now noticed the gun Antoine held in his hand. “Look, we don’t want no problems.”

  “Probably should’ve thought of that before you came snooping around,” Antoine said.

  Bell laid a hand on Antoine’s arm. He waved his other toward the tables. “What do you think of all this?”

  “I don’t rightly know what to think,” Eddie said. “This ain’t what I expected.”

  Bell nodded. “It’s really quite simple. My product, my tonic, is better than all the others because it contains what the body needs. The right mixture of proteins and minerals for good health.”

  “’Cause it contains body parts?” Eddie asked.

  Bell smiled. “See, you do understand.”

  Eddie glanced at the jar of ground bones again. “I suppose.”

  “The only question is, what are you going to do?” Bell said. “Now that you possess this knowledge.”

  Eddie glanced at Floyd, getting a blank stare in return. “Ain’t much we could do. Or would, for that matter.” He shuffled his feet. “I mean the folks’re already dead and gone. Ain’t no harm in using them to make others better, I suspect. It’s not like the dead would know.”

  Bell clapped his hands together. “That’s exactly right. Death is always tragic and sad, but if we can help make others better, the loss is not in vain.”

  Eddie nodded.

  “So can I be assured you two are okay with this?”

  Floyd shrugged. “Ain’t no skin off my nose.”

  “Mine neither,” Eddie added.

  “Good.” Bell held their gaze for a moment. “The one you brought us tonight is exactly what I need. Young, muscular, and fairly fresh.”

  “What about his face being all stove in?” Eddie asked.

  “No concern. You see, I dry them out. Sort of like making jerky. Then grind them up. The bones, too. Only need a tiny amount to make each bottle of tonic.” He smiled. “So the only question I have is, how many can you supply?”

  Eddie looked at him. “I guess that depends on how many folks pass. And how soon we can get to them.”

  Bell nodded. “Maybe expand your horizons to other counties.”

  “We’re already thinking on that. It’d be a might trickier since we don’t know those areas as well.”

  “And that’s why I’m offering you a raise. Double. How does that sound?”

  “Good.” Eddie nodded. “Sounds real good.”

  “You see,” Bell said, “I sell in four states right now but I see an opportunity to move into half a dozen others. Which requires growing the operation. And, in turn, more raw materials.”

  “Bodies?” Floyd asked.

  “As many more as you can locate.”

  * * *

  It was Sunday morning. Sheriff Amos Dugan sat in his front porch rocker, reading the newspaper, and finishing off a cup of coffee. He had another hour to kill before getting dressed for church. That’s when a car pulled into his drive.

  “Amos,” Bill Grace said as he climbed out and walked toward the porch. “Sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning.”

  Dugan knew Grace, the funeral director over in Pine Valley. Fact was, they went way back. To grammar school.

  “No problem, Bill.” He folded the paper. “Can I get you a cup of coffee? Millie just made it fresh.”

  “Another time.” Grace lowered himself into the adjacent rocker.

  “What can I do for you?” Dugan asked.

  “Got me a situation.” Grace shook his head. “One hell of a situation.”

  “Sounds like I ain’t gonna like it.”

  “Jerry Crabtree’s body’s gone missing.”

  Dugan rocked forward and stared at his friend. “Want to explain that?”

  “His momma stopped by this morning. Early. Brought Jerry’s Bible for me to slip in the casket.” He stared off toward the peach tree in the yard, took a breath, and went on. “She’d of put it in herself, at the visitation yesterday, but it’s a closed casket deal. The funeral’s today. She wanted her boy buried with it.”

  “And he’s gone?”

  Grace nodded. “Someone replaced the body with chunks of tree trunk.”

  “Good lord.” Dugan let out a sigh. “Sometime during the night?”

  “Looks that way. I saw some scratching on the back door lock so I suspect that’s the way they got in.”

  “What would someone want with Jerry’s body?”

  “Ain’t got no idea.”

  “I’m here to tell you,” Dugan said, “the world don’t make no sense sometimes.” He rubbed his chin. “You tell his momma yet?”

  “Nope. Wanted to talk with you first. But she’s my next stop.”

  Dugan stood, his knees protesting with a few creaks and pops. “I’ll get dressed and tell Martha I ain’t going to make church today. Then I’ll meet you over at your funeral home. Say about an hour?”

  “Sounds good.”

  Dugan watched his friend drive away, letting the news settle. This changed everything. The disturbed dirt over at Wilbert Fleming’s grave took on a whole new meaning. Opening it up could no longer be avoided. If someone stole one body, why not two? He suddenly felt all of his sixty-two years.

  * * *

  Tuesday night around midnight found Eddie and Floyd at
McGill’s. Sitting on barstools, knocking back a few beers. They’d heard a few folks talking about the theft of Jerry Crabtree’s body and someone digging up Wilbert Fleming, God rest their souls, but those conversations were short lived and quickly moved on to the weather, hunting, fishing, football. The usual topics.

  Eddie was feeling good about things. Sure Jerry and Wilbert going missing was creating a bit of a stir, but now three days later, he felt Floyd and him were in the clear.

  That’s when Antoine walked in. He didn’t say a word, merely nodded toward the back as he walked by. Eddie and Floyd slid off their stools and followed him down the hall that led to the restrooms, past them, and out the rear door to the gravel parking lot over near the trash cans. Antoine turned, folded his arms across his chest, and glared at them.

  “So much for your brilliant idea,” Antoine said.

  “What do you mean?” Eddie asked. “It worked.”

  “Did it?”

  “Well now, we weren’t thinking they’d ever know, but even if they do there’s no way it comes back to us.” He tapped his cousin’s shoulder. “Or to you and Dr. Bell.”

  “Not yet.”

  “If they was going to, they already would of. Don’t you think?”

  “I think Dr. Bell ain’t happy. I think I ain’t happy. I think you two shouldn’t think so much. You’re not very good at it.”

  “It was a good plan,” Eddie said. “How’d we know they was going to look inside? I mean, it being closed and all.”

  “But they did.”

  “It still ain’t gonna cause us no grief.”

  “You better hope not.” Antoine’s eyes narrowed and his jaw muscles gave a couple of pumps. “No more stealing from funeral homes. Dig them up like you’re supposed to. No one will look after they’re buried.”

  Eddie nodded.

  “And no more big ideas lest you run them by me first.”

  * * *

  Thursday evening, Eddie and Floyd were again at McGill’s. It was nearing two a.m., closing time, and only half a dozen people remained. A few stools down sat a visitor. Skinny guy from Maryland, on his way to New Orleans, stopping for the night. At least, that’s what he jawed to Wayne the bartender about. He’d had more than a few beers and wobbled, even when planted firmly on a barstool.

  “You sure about this?” Floyd asked, speaking just loud enough for Eddie to hear.

  “Seems easy enough,” Eddie said.

  “Should we talk to Antoine first?”

  “Screw him. He don’t own us.”

  “But he’s the guy who pays,” Floyd said.

  “Bell does that.”

  “Not directly.”

  “Maybe it’s time to cut out the middleman.”

  “Bell won’t like that,” Floyd said.

  Eddie cut his eyes toward his cousin. “He just might. One less mouth to feed. And we’ll get more money.” He nodded toward the visitor, leaned near Floyd. “Especially if we can bring him a real fresh one.”

  “I don’t know. I ain’t sure I like this.”

  Eddie smiled. “You never like what I think up. Until you dwell on it a spell. Then you see the wisdom. Way it always is.” Another smile. “Besides, ain’t nobody going to miss him.”

  “Someone will.”

  Eddie shrugged. “Not no one around here.”

  The guy dug in his pocket and pulled out a few wadded bills. “How much I owe you?” he asked.

  “Make it seven even,” Wayne said.

  The man laid a five and three ones on the bar. “There’s a dollar for you.” He slid off the stool and shuffled toward the door.

  Eddie paid their tab. Once on the street, they saw the guy. Half a block away, weaving his way down the sidewalk. The street was otherwise deserted. They caught up to him as he reached his car and struggled to unlock the door.

  “Hey buddy,” Eddie said. “You okay?”

  The guy looked up, grinned. “If I can get this door unlocked I sure will be.”

  “Don’t look like you’re in any condition to drive. Can we help you? Where you going?”

  The guy straightened up, wavered, caught the car roof to maintain his balance. “Bartender said there was a motel just down the road.”

  “There is,” Eddie said. “Pretty nice one. Why don’t we take you there?”

  He seemed to consider that. “Can’t leave my car here.”

  “No problem. My cousin’ll drive you there and I’ll follow along. That way you’ll have your car in the morning.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “Sure. We’d be obliged to.”

  * * *

  Seven-thirty in the morning found Sheriff Amos Dugan behind his desk, staring at the nervous young couple before him. Robbie Peters, seventeen, high school junior, football player, and Betty Jane Marks, a sophomore who played clarinet in the band.

  “What can I do for you youngsters?” Dugan asked.

  Robbie glanced at Betty Jane. “We saw something the other night.”

  “Something like what?”

  “It was last Saturday night. We’d gone to a movie over in Pine Valley. Then we…” again, he looked at Betty Jane.

  “Just relax, son,” Dugan said. “Tell me what you came here to say.”

  “We went parking for a while. Over in the cemetery.”

  Dugan laughed. “Me and the missus used to do that when we was your age.”

  That seemed to relax the couple.

  “We like it because it’s quiet,” Robbie said.

  Dugan nodded, laughed again. “It is that.”

  Robbie smiled. “Anyway, you know it’s right next to the funeral home. Grace’s.” Dugan nodded so he continued. “We saw a car come up and park behind it.”

  Dugan sat straight up. “Go ahead on.”

  “Two guys went in the back. They had flashlights and seemed to be carrying stuff in and out for the better part of a half hour. Seemed odd.”

  “Any idea what they was up to?”

  Robbie shook his head. “We was too far away to see good. And we were afraid to leave. Didn’t want no one knowing we was there.” He glanced at Betty Jane again. “She missed her curfew ’cause we had to wait until they left.”

  “And my daddy wasn’t happy,” she said.

  Dugan nodded and smiled. “Parents can be that way.” He looked back at Robbie. “I take it you couldn’t identify these guys?”

  “Like I said, we was a good piece away and it was dark.”

  “Their car? What kind was it?”

  Robbie smiled. “That I know. I like cars. It was a forty-nine Ford. Black.”

  “And it had that brown stuff on the fender,” Betty Jane said.

  “Primer?” Dugan asked.

  “Yeah,” Robbie answered.

  “If it was dark how come you could see that?”

  “When they left, they circled around by the cemetery. They was only maybe fifty feet from us. I was afraid they’d see us but they didn’t. Anyway, we saw the fender then.”

  After the kids left, Dugan picked up the phone and buzzed his secretary, out front at the reception desk. “Clarice, you know where Travis is?”

  “Sure do. He’s standing right here, drinking coffee and looking like an idiot.”

  Dugan loved Clarice. Her irreverent sense of humor kept him and Travis on their toes. “Well, send the idiot back here.”

  Travis walked in. “What’s up?”

  Dugan told him the story.

  “I know that car,” Travis said. “Belongs to Eddie Whitt.”

  “You sure?”

  “I’m sure he’s got a forty-nine Ford with a stove-in left front fender.”

  Dugan nodded, then stood. “Maybe we should go have a talk with him.”

  “You thinking Eddie stole Jerry’s body?”

  “Looks that way.” Dugan shook his head. “Means he’s probably the one what dug up Wilbert Fleming, too.”

  * * *

  Eddie turned up Dr. Bells’ drive.


  “I still think we should’ve talked to Antoine first.”

  “Don’t you see his car? Up there by the barn?”

  “Course I do. I just meant maybe we should’ve met him out at the usual place. Showing up here, Dr. Bell might not like it.”

  “He will when he sees what we got.”

  Eddie parked next to Antoine’s Chevy. One of the large double barn doors was cracked open a couple of feet so they stepped inside. Dr. Bell and Antoine stood by one of the tables, mixing a pot of liquid with a large wooden paddle. It smelled almost like stew. Almost.

  “Morning,” Eddie said.

  The two men whirled toward them, surprise on their faces.

  “What the hell you doing here?” Antoine asked.

  “Got a new one for you,” Eddie said.

  Antoine walked toward them, the scowl on his face deepening. “Didn’t I tell you to never come here again? We got a place to do this. A private place.”

  Eddie nodded, smiled. “This one’s so fresh I thought we’d get it to you right soon.”

  Dr. Bell approached. “Please tell me you didn’t steal it from a funeral home again.”

  “Nope. He’s just some guy. Passing through town.”

  “What happened to him?” Bell asked.

  “I think he choked on something.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Eddie laughed. “Let’s just say he had trouble breathing.”

  * * *

  Dugan and Travis scoured the town for Eddie’s car. A visit to his house and then a quick stop by his momma’s place turned up nothing. They then zig-zagged all over but saw no sign of the car. As they circled the county road on the edge of town, Dugan said, “Not sure where else to look.”

  “What about there?” Travis said. He pointed up the hillside toward Dr. Bell’s mansion.

  Dugan glanced that way. Eddie’s car sat near the barn behind and to the left of the house. “Good eyes.”

  “Damn fine police work’s what it was.” Travis smiled.

  “What the hell’s he doing at Dr. Bell’s place?”

  “Don’t know. But that’s Antoine’s car up there, too.”

  “Antoine Briscoe?”

  “The one and only,” Travis said.

  Antoine was no stranger to Dugan. He’d arrested him more than once. Drinking and fighting mostly.