This one didn't seem to be about money. "When's the last time anyone saw them?" I asked. "A little after ten last night. That's when the humongous reception ended downstairs." "And not after that?" "I know this isn't exactly your terrain, Boxer," Jacobi said. He broke into a grin. "But generally people don't see the bride and groom for a while after the party." I smiled thinly, stood up, looked back across the large, lavish suite. "So surprise me, Jacobi. Who springs for a room like this?" "The groom's father is some Wall Street big shot from back east. He and his wife are down in a room on the twelfth floor. I was told it was quite a shindig downstairs. Up here, too. Look at all these goddamn roses." I went back over to the groom and spotted what looked like a gift box of champagne on a marble console near the door. There was a spray of blood all over it. "Assistant manager noticed it," Jacobi said. "My guess is, whoever did this brought it in with him." "They see anyone around?" "Yeah, a lot of people in tuxes. It was a wedding, right?" I read the champagne bottle label. "Krug. Clos du Mesnil, 1989." "That tell you something?" Jacob! asked. "Only that the killer has good taste." I looked at the blood-smeared tuxedo jacket. There was a single slash mark on the side where the fatal knife wound had gone through. "I figure the killer must've stripped it off after he stabbed him." Jacobi shrugged. "Why the hell would he do that?" I muttered out loud. "Dunno. We'll have to ask him." Charlie Clapper was eyeing me from the hallway to see if it was okay to get started. I nodded him in. Then I went back to the bride. I had a bad, bad feeling about this one. If it's not about money… then… sex. I lifted the fancy tulle lining of her skirt. The coldest, bitterest confirmation sliced through me. The bride's panties had been pulled down and were dangling off one foot.