Beautiful Freaks Read Free

of yellow light indicated the position of the crime-scene. On their journey, Brown had been more unwilling to talk then usual, and even now he was silent. Steptree took this as an uneasy warning. He followed Brown’s lead, moving towards the scene with a terrible sense of trepidation.
    When he saw that a tent had been erected around the crime-scene, Steptree knew that he had been right to be cautious. It wasn’t standard protocol to cover a crime scene from prying eyes – Londoners were used to such sights. If it had been thought necessary to cover this scene, it was because there was something far more sinister than usual going on.
    Martin Chester, Chief of Scotland Yard, wobbled over to them, letting out a heavy sigh and a low whistle before greeting Steptr ee with a warm familiarity. Steptree had known him from the earliest days of his career when the then Inspector Chester had been his mentor.
    “P leased you could make it , Steppers! I need our very best man on this, ” he said extending his hand out in greeting.
    No one else in Scotland Yard, or indeed in any other part of his life, called Inspector William Steptree, Steppers. Brown allowed the trace of a smile to light his lips under his moustache. It was quickly extinguished by Steptree’s steely glare.
    Chester , usually a ruddy man, looked pale. When he spoke, the words were laced with the heavy breath of one who had either been running, or who was suffering from shock.
    “I ’ve never seen anything like it!” Chester exhaled, causing a long plume of warm air to channel into the air. “ I assume your man here, Brown, has filled you in on the situation? ”
    Steptree turned to Brown before returning his eyes to Chester . “No, Sir. He thought it best for me to see it for myself.”
    “I see,” replied Chester through a strained smile.
    He was a man who appeared to be holding it all together only because he was the one in charge. Whatever was under the cover of the tent , it was clear that Chester had had to deal with it mainly on his own. He pulled aside one of the heavy canvas flaps and waved the men through, “After you!”
    Steptree steeled himself for the gruesome sight he was sure awaited him. He let his breath go shallow, a trick he’d learnt to prevent the stench of death from making him wretch. He’d seen some awful violence in his time, but despite attending hundreds of murders in his ten-year career, he’d never grown immunity. However, none of the sordid and violent ugliness he’ d encountered up to this point could have prepared him for the sight in front o f him.
    He was expecting horror, but he was greeted with a sight that was nothing short of beautiful.
    At first , Steptree wasn’t sure it wasn’t all an elaborate trick ; that he hadn’t been dragged from his warm bed for the sake of a stolen statue. Approaching closer, he realised it wasn’t a statue but the corpse of a young man . Still standing, the body had been posed in the movement of a kiss. His eyes were closed , his hand raised , as if still cupping the cheek of his lover. The boy glittered , as if his skin were made of a quartz marble. I t was so white as to almost be a shade of pale blue.
    Steptree gasped and tears pricked at the corner of eyes as he thought of how the boy was the same colour as the moon, and just as luminescent. Never before had the sight of death moved him to a feeling of such sorrow. In front of him was poetry that surpassed words.
    The boy sparkled. The faint flush of a youthful blush was still painted on his cheek. Steptree extended his fingers to explore the thin translucent crust that covered the boy – it was ice. Perfect snowflakes had caught in the fibres of the young man’s velvet jacket and laced his eyelashes.
    Steptree was an ex ceptionally logical man, but for the life of him h e could not understand how, on a slightly chilly October evening, a young man had spontaneously frozen to death. A creepy sensation spread over his skin and an