Lieutenant Columbo had been standing for an hour with his chin in his hand on the ice stained with blood. His cigar no longer smoldered, and his thin coat stopped keeping him warm. "This isn't Los Angeles," Columbo guessed.
Swords, spears, bows, dead bodies in armor. What is this? Is the reenactor tournament out of control or... is he now a Time Traveler!? He pushed the thought away from himself. Now this is not important, what is important is something else - where is the suspect? There has to be a suspect. Always was. But everyone is dead.
For the first time in his career, the Lieutenant did not know where to start.