"Right. An accident." The female officer stopped beside the crossed swords on the carpet. "And these are your weapons."

"They're not mine," Jack protested.

"Right."

"They're Scottish claymores," he told her. "They belong to the groom. And there's no blood on them. The guys were using them to do a Highland sword dance."

She studied the swords, frowning. "You could have cleaned them."

"I didn't stab anyone." At least not tonight.

She surveyed the room, and her gaze lifted. "What's this?"

Jack winced at the sight of VANNA White's red silk bra dangling from the chandelier.

The female officer climbed onto the coffee table and used her expandable baton to dislodge the bra. "There were women at this party?"

"I wouldn't call them real women."

"Female impersonators?" She gave him a wry look as she waved the bra in the air.

He scowled at her. "It's not mine."

She tossed the bra on the couch and stepped down to the floor. "What's in the bedroom?"

Jack squeezed his eyes shut as he bombarded her with all the psychic power he could muster. Do not go in there.

"Do not go in there," Harvey repeated.

She shivered. "It's damned cold in here." She slipped into the bedroom. "Oh my God!"

Jack groaned.

She stuck her head out the door. "Harvey. Harvey! Call for backup!" She went back inside.

Harvey shook his head. "Huh?" He gave Jack a questioning look. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"There's a body on the bed," the woman called from the bedroom. "Female."

"It's VANNA White," Jack explained.

"Oh my gosh, she… she's not alive," the female officer continued.