The victim lay under an insulated blanket that was slowly frosting over. "What gives?" asked the detective. "It's fifty below out here. I didn't even wear a jacket."
"It's not the weather," said the coroner. "It's the body. Some of it's still liquid. We don't want anyone getting hurt."
"It hit melting point?" The detective blanched, blue fading to white.
"That's not even the weirdest part." The coroner leaned in. "The hole in his chest was a handprint. Like whoever killed him had a body temperature up around ninety, a hundred degrees. All they had to do was touch him..."
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