Detectives Martinez and Hanson sat in the living room of Janet Gregson's townhouse decorated mostly in mid-century modern decor. They questioned her about her late husband, David, while Henry walked slowly around the room studying what he recognized to be a few antique vases, paintings and furniture pieces. Of particular interest to him were the family photos on the mantel above the fireplace. It didn't surprise him that Gregson was only in a few photos from what appeared to be the early years of their marriage where the age difference between his wife and him was not that evident. He turned his attention back to the widow, Janet, as she haltingly answered the detectives' questions.

"He was an adventurer," she told them as she crushed a tear-soaked tissue in her hand. "He used to say that life was for exploring, new adventures and learning new things." She discarded the used tissue into the ornate, gold-plated wastebasket near her chair and snatched a clean one from the box inside a matching ornate covering on her lap.

"Early in our marriage, we went everywhere together exploring, he called it. Mountain climbing, river rafting, sky diving." She looked down at her hands and sighed. "After a while ... it became harder and harder to keep up with him until ... until I couldn't keep up with him at all." A weak smile played on her lips and she scoffed. "He was still physically able to leave at the drop of a hat and tirelessly roam the world looking for new adventures, visiting exotic places, meeting all sorts of interesting people ... " her voice trailed off and a new round of tears threatened to spill from her tired, blue eyes. Her breath shuddered in and out as she made a visible effort to maintain her composure. Her graying blonde hair was pulled softly back from her face into an intricately braided bun secured with a stylish, gold clip.

"He never forgot about me, though." She smiled more convincingly and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. "Every few months I'd get a postcard from wherever he happened to be. Wish you were here." Her laugh sounded hollow. "Then ... it was only a couple of times a year: Christmas and my birthday." She swallowed and dabbed at her eyes again with the tissue. "For the past 11 years, I had received nothing." She stood and walked over to a small, brown, wooden box on the mantel. She opened it, retrieved something from it and closed it back up. When she turned back around, she had a small envelope in her hand.

"Two months ago, this letter arrived from him. It is the last thing I ever received from him." She walked over and handed it to Jo and retook her seat. When Jo hesitated to open it, Janet closed her eyes and nodded for her to do so.

"He wrote that he believed he had found a way for us to be together again," she said as Jo opened the envelope and unfolded the handwritten letter written on thick, embossed, pale blue stationery. "Some kind of motivational speaker, a guru, who could help bring him inner peace so that he didn't have to seek thrills outside of our marriage." She hugged herself as if warding off a cold chill. "It sounded as though he had decided to ... come back to me so that we could resume our marriage in a proper fashion." She paused a moment, thinking. "Instead, he, he's," she began to laugh, almost hysterically. "He's dead!" She continued to laugh as more tears flowed and buried themselves inside the layered wrinkles at the outer corners of her eyes and the deep laugh lines on either side of her thin, pale lips.

The three crime solvers eyed her uncomfortably, unsure of how to proceed or if they even should, given her present emotional state. But these four deaths may or may not have been crimes so they resolved to press forward with their questions.

Jo bit her lower lip and the lines between her brows emerged as she skimmed over the letter. She passed it to Mike, who read it while Henry peered at it over his shoulder. There was no mention of the guru that her husband, David, claimed to have found, but the words Essence of Forever jumped off the last page for Henry. He frowned as he couldn't help but compare some elements of Janet's and David's encumbered relationship to that of his and Abigail's.

The similarities of their early years of apparent happiness; their eventual separation, although David had been the one to abandon the household for parts unknown, whereas Abigail had been the one to abandon him. And years later, a letter from the absent partner full of hope and an eagerness to mend the broken marriage. He swallowed and looked away from the letter in an effort to calm himself. The fact that David's letter had reached Janet while Abigail's had never even been mailed to him, did not change the reality of their unexpected deaths, thus ending any chance for a reconciliation. And Abigail had often styled her own blonde locks in a similar fashion as Janet's. Mike's voice broke into his thoughts.

"May we keep this for a while?" he asked, folding the letter. "It could help in our investigation." Janet nodded, seemingly calmer, and Mike handed it back to Jo, who placed it back into the envelope and into her jacket pocket.

Henry inhaled slightly and licked his lips. "Might I ask ... if you don't mind. The, uh, scar on the back of his neck ... did he ever tell you how he came to suffer it?"

Janet froze and returned a silent, stony stare to him. After several moments, she replied, "During the war." She inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes.

Jo looked from Mike and Henry back to her. "Um, which - ?"

"The Korean War," she quietly replied. "It was November 1950. He'd joined the Army in 1929, and by 1950, was with the U.S. 8th Cavalry Regiment. The enemy had attacked them from three directions and overran them in the Battle of Unsan. They were forced to retreat back to the Ch'ongch'on River. It was during this battle that a Chinese soldier ... killed him," she said matter-of-factly. "Bashed him in the back of his neck with his rifle butt and ... he died. He said he came back to life in that same river. Naked." A smile, more of a smirk, played across her lips. "There was so much going on, he told me, that no one ever noticed."

"You've all been polite enough not to have mentioned what appears to be a substantial age difference between David and me; also evident in our photographs," she said, looking at Henry. "But he was the December and I was the May in our relationship." She sniffled a bit into the tissue and rose from her chair. She walked over to the photos on the mantel and smiled fondly at one of David and her laughingly sharing an embrace on a sunny beach somewhere. Happier times, she thought to herself. She plucked the photo from its perch and walked over and handed it to Henry.

"That was taken on our honeymoon in Hawaii, in 1988. I was 33, he," she laughingly paused, "was 41." Her eyes glazed over as the memory of that happy time caused her to smile broadly. Her smile quickly faded as she snapped out of the memory. "It was 15 years later when he couldn't hide it anymore and he finally confessed to me that he hadn't aged past 41 since 1950!" She clasped her hands together and paced back and forth in front of them.

"Of course, I didn't believe him and it caused considerable discord in our marriage. But ... as the years passed, I saw with my own eyes that time literally stood still for him, as far as aging. Time marched on for me, though," she scoffed. "One day he failed to come home the day after our anniversary. A few years later, he stopped communicating with me. That letter was the first communication from him in 11 years." She hugged herself again from the chilly wind only she felt. "David said that he was born in 1909, in Minnesota. His parents were Eric and Katarina. Of course, I never met them because they'd both been dead for years." Her laughter filled the room again and she raised her head toward the ceiling. She hugged herself again and turned to face them all. "Please find out what this so-called Essence of Forever is and if that's what took my David from me. I don't care that you don't believe me. What I've shared with you is the truth. Just find out, if you can, who or what was responsible for his ... his death."

vvvv

"Well, two down, two to go," Mike said as they piled into the car and buckled themselves in.

"And I guess that the Essence of Life therapy was for his regular customers and Essence of Forever was reserved for his more special clientele." She glanced back at Henry as she started up the car. He gave her a reassuring smile that he was not offended by her statement.

Mike looked over at Jo with a mischevious grin and loudly directed his question to Henry in the backseat. "When had you, uh, planned to visit The Frenchman, Doc, to see if she can identify what type of weapon made that wound on Tong?" He covered his grin with his hand.

"I have an appointment with her this evening at 6:30. Care to join me, Detective?" He smiled smugly at the back of Mike's head, knowing full well what his reply would be.

Mike coughed. "No." He coughed again a couple of times and frowned at Jo, who smilingly rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No. No, thanks." He made several attempts to clear his throat and finally took in a few deep breaths. "That cougar chick is too weird for me," he muttered.

Jo's eyes met Henry's in the rearview mirror and they both chuckled at Mike's fear of The Frenchman.

"It's not funny," he told them. "The last time I was there, she promised to demonstrate the 'cuts of pleasure' on me next time I visited her shop." He shuddered at the memory. "She's dangerous! And horny! Dangerous and horny!"

Henry managed to quieten his laughter. "I shall take all precautions, Detective." His burner phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out and viewed the screen to see who was calling him. L WAHL OCME displayed on the Caller ID.

"Yes, Lucas?"

("Uh ... hi ... uh ... something strange is happening here to one of the four certain corpses," he whispered covertly as if speaking in code. "I think you should see this for yourself.")

"Lucas, what are you talking about? What's happening to it?"

("Hattie Fieldings' corpse. It's not, uh, decomposing ... like it should.")

Henry sat up a little straighter, frowning. "Not ... well, it's only been a couple of days, Lucas."

(Lucas took in a deep breath and replied, "Her autopsy scars are ... gone.")

vvvv

Henry rushed back into the morgue to find Lucas standing over Hattie's corpse as it lay on the autopsy table. He quickly pulled on a pair of gloves and took up position next to Lucas while Jo and Mike stood on the other side of the table. A white sheet covered her up to her neck. Henry carefully lifted the sheet and pulled it down to expose her upper torso. He gasped along with the two detectives when they saw that the long, Y-shaped autopsy scar along with its many stitches had completely vanished from her body. Only the strange ice pick scar over her heart remained.

"I have to tell you, this totally freaks me out," Lucas said, shaking his head. He looked apologetically at Henry, then Jo, and clamped his lips tightly together, lowering his eyes to Hattie's torso again.

"Henry," Jo asked, visibly shaken. "What's going on?"

"We're going to do everything in our power to find out, Detective," he replied, his eyes poring over Hattie's body now devoid of any autopsy scars that he, himself had made only yesterday. He looked at Mike and Jo and promised, "As soon as we know anything, we'll let you know." They both nodded at him and turned to walk out of the morgue.

"Oh, Detectives," he called after them, "since it appears that I will not be able to keep my 6:30 appointment with The Frenchman this evening, perhaps the two of you could go in my stead?"

Mike shook his head vigorously, a look of horror on his face. But much to his dismay, Jo bit her lower lip, then replied, "Sure, Henry. We'll take care of it." She looked at Mike, who appeared as though he would start hyperventilating. He was still shaking his head "No", but Jo grabbed him by his arm and steered him out of the morgue.

"Yes. Yes, we will." She punched the UP elevator button for the lobby and leaned in close to Mike. "I will not let her harm you, Mike. I'll shoot her if she tries anything." The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside.

"Promise?" Mike asked her, a pained expression still on his face.

She shook her head as the doors closed and chuckled a bit. "Promise."

"Now, Lucas," Henry began, "we need to examine the other three corpses." If the same were happening to the other three, it could change the circumstances of the case very quickly, he realized.

Notes:

Information on the U.S. Army 8th Cavalry obtained fro a