Beautiful Freaks (31 page)

“This club, No.7 – what exactly is the nature of ‘The Palace of Beautiful Freaks?’”

“I’m not entirely sure I …I …understand,” he stammered.

“It’s a simple enough question.” Steptree smiled but it wasn’t intended to be a friendly – they’d moved past that.

“Well, it’s just a show. A kind of exhibition, a circus freak-show. The girls wear costumes and perform tricks.”

“Girls? Sorry, I thought you said earlier that there were no women at the club – apart from the waitresses that you didn’t think counted.”

Denvers looked like a deer caught in a trap. “Did I?” He shook his head as if he couldn’t remember, “Are you sure?”

Steptree nodded.

“Ah, well I didn’t think to include the freaks – hardly human some of them.”

“Right,” Steptree sucked in his breath and released a tight smile. “I’m beginning to wonder who exactly you do think worthy of counting. You said they do tricks – what kind of tricks, magic?

Steptree could see that Denvers was weighing up whether it was better to chew off his own leg and make a free run for it, or to stay there and hope he could wriggle out of it. “I suppose you could call it that. There’s a lot of smoke and mirrors, illusions, that sort of thing.”

“Perhaps you could describe one of the acts for me.”

Denver’s blushed. “I really don’t see why that is necessary.”

“Indulge me!” Steptree instructed.

A heavy pause filled the room and it seemed to suck out all of the air. “Very well, if you insist!” he exclaimed before heavily sighing. “I suppose the best way to describe the acts might be to describe them as living paintings, sets with a character in them; the girl is in costume and she performs a circus or magic trick designed to demonstrate her …” Denvers searched around for the phrase “… best features.” He shifted his eyes to the door, as if worried somebody might walk in and uncover his secret. “It’s more like a piece of living art rather than anything sordid,” he said earnestly.

“Hmm, and the girls – what kind of tricks do they do?”

Denvers waved his hand dismissively as if the actions of the girls were irrelevant.

“I’ll ask again – what kind of tricks do they do?”

Denvers shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Breath fire, dance on ice, sprout wings … that kind of thing.”

Steptree’s heart beat so hard that he feared it might suddenly burst through his chest. He tried to look calm, as if everything was perfectly normal.

“Well, thank you Mr. Denvers, our little conversation has been most illuminating.” Steptree snapped shut his notebook and made towards the door.

“Any time,” Denvers replied as he poured himself another large glass of scotch. “Please feel free to see yourself out.”

Steptree turned before he disappeared through the door. When he looked back Denvers was slumped in the chair, his head dipped forward and his eyes closed. He couldn’t be certain but he thought that Denvers might be on the verge of crying.

*

The walk to Professor Heartlock’s residence wasn’t far, and due to Steptree’s sudden surge of excitement, it was no more than quarter of an hour between sitting in Hugh Denver’s apartment and taking a seat in Professor Heartlock’s study. There was no sign of Kaspian.

Professor Heartlock had offered Steptree a warm welcome and it made Steptree feel a little guilty about the unkind feeling he had harboured towards the old man. Once the pleasantries of greeting had passed and the tea had arrived, the men sat down to business. Steptree knew that involving Heartlock was a risk, as Kaspian’s guardian might prove to divide loyalties, but the old man was the only one that might have the answers he was looking for.

“There have been some developments on the Chinese Elements case.”

“Hmm, I see. How can I be of help?”

“I’m not too sure but my instinct tells me you might be able to clarify a few things.”

“I hope I can be of service to you.”

The professor raised his cup to his lips and Steptree saw how the old man’s hand trembled with age and excitement.

“I think we may have been wrong with the Chinese Elements; we put two and two together and came up with four, but we really should have come up with five.”

Heartlock smiled wryly. “You see
,
I knew you’d come around.”

“It’s just that the link seemed so obvious, but what if it isn’t the elements, what if it’s something else? If we go with the idea that it is a carefully structured plan of killing – such as killing to the pattern of the elements – then it suggests one highly organised and inventive serial killer. That’s very much the theory Chester has been pursuing but I think he’s wrong. I think that each of these murders was committed by a separate individual and in isolation.”

“Go on.”

“Well what if the crimes are only linked by the fact they are supernatural crimes? That would suggest that we are dealing with a group of supernatural beings who may, or may not, know each other.”

“That is certainly a theory? But I’m curious – do you believe that such supernatural beings exist? I thought you were a man of science and reason,” Heartlock asked, unable to hide the slightly teasing tone from his voice.

“All science is magic until it is proven. It would be ignorant to close the mind against other possibilities – however strange and weird they may sound.”

“True! Do you have any idea as to what kind of supernatural beings might be responsible?”

“No,” Steptree laughed and smiled, “that was where I was hoping you might come in.”

“Oh, I see.” The Professor let out a friendly chortle. “Well I hope I don’t disappoint.”

Steptree went on to tell Heartlock of the information he had gathered from Hugh Denvers about the shows at No.7, although he did not reveal where his information had come from.

Heartlock listened patiently, taking all the various pieces of information into his brilliant mind. When Steptree had revealed all the knowledge he had, Heartlock manoeuvred his chair to his desk and called Steptree over. Valentine’s book still lay open where Kaspian had left it, on a page recounting the tale of a village girl whose kiss turned one of the young men into an ice sculpture.

Steptree looked at it and then over to the Professor.

“You’d already started to work this out, hadn’t you?”

Heartlock smiled and winked, “Just a little bit – I had some loose ideas that seemed to belong together but I couldn’t see how certain the link was until…” Professor Heartlock flipped the book shut, revealing the front cover and the name of the author.

“Doctor Valentine,” Steptree whispered, “Well I’ll be damned.”

“When you mentioned that a Miss Valentine was the owner of No.7, various things started to fall in place.” He opened the book back up and turned it to an ink drawing of a woman breathing fire. “And when you told me what tricks the women performed I was certain that I’d seen the pattern before.” He flicked to another page, which was marked with a piece of paper; it was the image of a woman with large butterfly wings splayed out from her back.

“The ‘Beautiful Freaks’ are real, it would seem. Miss Valentine knew what they were because of her father’s research papers. She also accompanied him on his trips.”

Heartlock flicked to the final page he had marked with a piece of card. It was the picture of Evangeline Valentine, “No! That’s impossible!” Steptree exclaimed.

“It’s her, isn’t it?”

Steptree reached into his inside pocket and pulled the playing card portrait out and placed it on the table next to the book.

A shadow flitted across the mirror above the mantle piece and Steptree turned to see Kaspian standing at the door. The boy looked ill
;
pale and troubled. Steptree had hoped that Kaspian would be out; he had wanted more time to plan his confrontation.

“It’s who?” the boy asked.

Kaspian didn’t know why he’d bothered to ask them. He knew whom they were talking
about,
he could read it in Steptree’s eyes.

Heartlock beckoned the boy over, “Come and see what we have discovered about the Chinese Elements case. The answer has been here all along.”

Kaspian looked at Steptree and a secret communication ran between them. ‘Yes the answer has been here all along.’

“Oh, it’s gone!” Heartlock tutted and let out a sigh of frustration. He was searching around for something on the desk, “Kaspian, have you seen the piece of paper that was at the back of the book?”

Steptree glanced towards Heartlock and his furious movements and then glanced back towards Kaspian, but the boy had completely disappeared.

“Oh, that’s a habit of his, moves around as silent as the grave. Always has had a habit of sneaking up on me,” Heartlock said light-heartedly.

“What was on the paper?” Steptree asked.

“I don’t know exactly. I was going to take a look at this afternoon when I had time to sit and read it properly.”

“Why would Kaspian remove it?”

“I have no idea!”

21

POWER

Steptree knew exactl
y where Kaspian would be going. He made his excuses to Professor Heartlock by explaining that he was going back to his offices to contact Brown and Chester. Before leaving he made arrangements for them all to meet up for supper and a meeting. In truth, he suspected the meeting would not be needed. He had a feeling that the case would be over before nightfall. When he was sure that he was out of sight he whistled over a messenger boy and wrote a scrawled note to be delivered to Chester who he knew, at this time of the day, would be having a pint with Brown, a habit they had taken to in the last few weeks.

An irrational part of him thought about calling home on the way to No.7. He had an overwhelming desire to see Meg and baby Elsie, to kiss them and tell them that he loved them. He chastised himself for being ridiculous. He would see them the following morning – although a shadowy doubt made him feel uncertain. Steptree had never been a man who chased a thrill. He was no man of action. He slid his hand under his jacket and felt for the reassuring chill of the pistol barrel. Why he should feel such threat when he was completing nothing more than a routine visit, he didn’t know – and yet he had thought it wise to plan for any eventuality.

It was getting dark; the afternoon was sliding into evening. Steptree longed for a few more hours of daylight. He had the feeling that Evangeline Valentine was a creature of the night.

He’d been so lost in his fears and thoughts that he’d failed to realise that he had arrived at the steps of No.7. He wondered if he should wait for the others to meet him but he didn’t want to alarm Miss Valentine. From the way he had left her that morning, she clearly felt like she was in control – it was best to let her continue thinking it. He walked up the steps, looking behind him in the hope of seeing Chester and Brown ambling across the square.

They were nowhere to be seen.

He was about to reach out his hand for the knocker but he stopped midway. The door was already ajar. A shiver ran through him. It felt like an uneasy welcome. He knew that if he pushed it open and entered without Eve’s knowledge, it would change from a routine enquiry to something else entirely – a game of cat and mouse.

“Hello!” he called as he pushed the door further.

Steptree didn’t like the situation at all; every instinct was telling him he was walking into a trap. He took a step back and looked over his shoulder. He reasoned that Chester and Brown would be arriving soon and that he was perfectly safe.

“Hello! Anybody home?” he called again. This time his feet pulled him forward and he moved through the door into the hall.

Although it had only been a matter of hours since he had last visited, it felt like a lifetime. The heady smell of roses filled the room, making him feel slightly faint. He stopped in front of the bouquet and admired the deep black-red of their velvet petals. They were so perfect that they looked artificial. He pulled off his glove and reached for one, taking its full-headed bloom into the palm of his hand. Leaning forward, he inhaled the rich intoxicating perfume. The scent of late autumn roses was always exquisite – they had a smell of cruelty. As he pulled his hand away, a thorn dragged a bead of blood from his finger; the volume of the pain was surprising.

From somewhere deep inside the silent house, a baby cried.

With its cry Steptree turned sick with fear. He bounded towards the source of the noise, knowing with a father’s heart that the cry belonged to Elsie. As he ran, his hand found the handle of his pistol. He checked out the study and then the salon, and just as he was about to turn and investigate the servant’s quarters downstairs, he heard the child wail again.

Stepping backwards he retreated back into the salon. He spun around wildly, checking every corner, behind the sofas and under the table clothes, but although the sound was close, Elsie was nowhere to be seen.

“Elsie!” he called out. “Elsie!”

With his call, his baby’s wail grew higher. He followed the sound, finding himself standing in front of the large gilt framed mirror. The reflection showed a man gripped by fear – a man who was in danger of losing everything.