Dimension One, a new crime scene ...

Jo had received the call from Mike about a young couple found dead in their apartment on East 6th Street just as she'd begun driving away from the safe house.

"Probably another murder-suicide or one of those even dumber suicide pacts," she muttered out loud as she drove, annoyed with the universe. Actually, she didn't know which type of double murder was dumber. But she did know that a universe that not only allowed room for Immortals to exist and for them to be able to switch dimensions; and for all the normal stuff, good and bad, to fall in her lap was a bit more than her brain and her heart could easily deal with.

vvvv

"What do we got?" she tiredly asked Mike as they met in the crime scene's living room and walked down the hallway and into the bedroom.

"Nathan Bishop," he replied, pointing to the man's body sprawled face down on the floor at the foot of the bed. "Paula Frierson." He nodded to the woman's body on the bed in a fetal position. "Both 26 years old," he continued, reading from his notes. "Super says they moved in a couple of months ago. Neighbors say they were friendly and outgoing. Active in their church. He's a youth minister, she's the songstress."

Jo gave him a look and said, "Soloist."

"Soloist," he said. "Sorry. Her regular job was as a violinist with the NY Symphony. He taught dance at Julliard."

"Who found them?" Jo asked.

"Neighbor two doors down, a, uh, Mrs. Alouetta Periwinkle." Jo raised an amused eyebrow at the antiquated-sounding name. "I know," he replied and closed up his small notepad. "She said they trusted her with a key to their apartment and she checked up on them now and then to feed the fish. Liked them because they reminded her of her own son and daughter-in-law. Looked like the stomach flu to her so she delayed calling 911. Said she thought that all they needed was rest and plenty of fluids."

Jo frowned as she studied the clammy bodies; their faces evidencing exhaustion from a drawn out illness and painful demise. Then, at the vomit and other human excrement leading from the bed onto the floor and into the small bathroom. "This is much worse than any flu," she said, indignance seeping into her voice. "Is this Mrs. Periwinkle blind or senile or something?"

"Not blind," he replied. "Senile, maybe. Doc say when he was coming back?" he asked. Earlier, he'd wanted to know out of rebellious curiosity where their quirky ME was but now he really missed the man and his proven observational skills.

"Um, no," she replied. "But soon, hopefully. Where's Lucas?" she asked, genuinely surprised not to see him there.

"He bailed as soon as he saw all this," Mike replied. "Got him outta here in the nick of time before he contaminated the crime scene with his own - "

"Just ... stop right there," Jo said, palming her hand at him. "I get it."

"Paramedics tended to him, then he took a cab," he softly chuckled. "Home, I guess. Pretty shook up." Mike spread his hands and shrugged when she frowned at him. "Well, he's not Henry. Henry would love to dig his hands into a crime scene like this."

"I hope you mean that figuratively," she told him, grimacing at the image of a gleeful Henry up to his elbows in the mess.

"No, literally. The guy's good but he's weird," Mike replied. "Now we're left with that Washington to try to figure things out." He shook his head and added, "Guy doesn't inspire a whole lot of confidence in me."

"You, me, everybody else," Jo agreed, chuckling. But she had an idea. Their ME would have an answer for them in short order, she was sure. But since he wasn't here, might as well utilize the next best thing: the other Henry. She took out her phone and began snapping pictures of the crime scene.

"What are you doing?" Mike asked. "CSU is taking all the pics we need. But what we really need is for Henry to be here."

"Just want my own record," she distractedly replied as she focused and snapped. "Just in case we haven't solved it by the time Henry returns," she added. That actually was the truth. Well, partially, since she was willing to bet that this other Henry was just as capable at crime solving. But not disclosing anything else to Mike about Henry's absence and his replacement knotted her stomach. Mike was her partner and she knew that he was trying hard to honor her request for him to allow her to deal with a certain situation alone. The 'Henry' situation. But how much longer could she keep him in the dark, she wondered? After all, Mike had tracked her down to the house where the other Henry was.

"Let's get out of their way," she told Mike, referring to the CSU. They left the apartment to question Mrs. Periwinkle, who basically repeated her earlier statement to Mike.

vvvv

Jo and Mike flanked Lt. Reece on either side of her as they walked from her office to the elevators, finally at the end of their long day. They shared the results of their interview with Mrs. Periwinkle, the deceased couple's elderly neighbor.

"So, according to the both of you, this sweet, little old lady thought they simply had upset stomachs and that's why she delayed calling 911 for them." Reece stated more than asked. She knew her detectives, sensing their reluctance to be skeptical of the woman for fear of being disrespectful.

"Well, she seemed ... believable," Jo replied. Mike nodded his head in agreement.

"What does your gut tell you?" Reece asked as she punched the elevator's call button.

"Don't discount anything or anyone," Mike replied with Jo nodding this time.

"Without Henry, you're going to have to dig deeper into how they were poisoned, if that's what you believe," she paused as they both nodded. She then smiled and said, "You know, he'd have this solved in no time if he were here. No offense, but he does have a way of doing that."

'If he were here,' Jo thought to herself. Well, she knew of the next best thing: the other Henry. And the sooner she could share the crime scene photos with him and pick his brain, the better.

vvvv

The next day ...

"Ahhh, Martinez," the other Henry greeted Jo as she walked into the house's kitchen where he was enjoying breakfast. "Change your mind on having me help you solve your latest mystery?"

"You might say that," Jo replied, feeling more than a little déjà vu. She recalled a similar exchange she'd had with her Henry in early 2015 when she'd shown up at the shop with an aged, black-and-white photo of a smiling couple with a baby, and his gold pocket watch.

"Hello, Detective. Have you another mystery for me to solve?"

"You, um, might say that," she'd replied, and held his watch out to him.

This time she held out a different item to this different man. "These are crime scene photos I took with my phone from our latest case," she told him. "I managed to print them out before coming over here."

"And just what do you expect me to do with these?" he asked. Before she could answer, he asked, "And should you even be showing these to me since I am not authorized to help the NYPD in this dimension," he calmly pointed out. "I'm not supposed to even be here," he muttered more to himself.

"True," she admitted, "but I was hoping that you could still help since you have nothing else to do right now but sit and wallow in self-pity." That earned her a disparaging look from him.

"My good woman, I have not been wallowing ... much. But I have been weighing my options with an earnest desire to find out how to return to my rightful place." He focused once again on his meal by jabbing the eggs with his fork. "And you can get your precious Henry back," he grumbled under his breath.

"Look," she said, sitting down, "it's true that Henry's input would be a big help to us, as usual, but since you possess many of his same gifts and talents, I thought that your input would be just as valuable."

"Please don't try to use flattery on me, Martinez," he said wearily. "It won't work."

She sighed while she closed and opened her eyes, lolling her head around. "All I know is that once this case is closed, my partner and I will be forced to move on to other cases. A potential killer will have gotten away because the COD will probably be ruled a bad case of food poisoning or flu and diarrhea by that surly, gloss-over ME, Washington."

"Washington? You have one of those, too?!" He pushed the plate of food away from him, grabbed the photos, and began studying them one by one with a frown of concentration. Jo smiled as she knew the look so well. Sometimes all her Henry had to hear was the man's name - Washington - and he'd switch into high gear whenever necessary to disprove his surly colleague's COD rulings.

The other Immortal ME spread the three photos in front of him on the table then sighed as he leaned back in his chair and looked at her. "You are aware that I will need to examine the bodies." It was more a statement than a question, feeling that he had her over a barrel.

"Impossible," she replied. She waited for him to reply, seeing him deflate somewhat. "Your credentials would have to be checked out and nothing's going to come up for you. Not even fake stuff like for ... "

He scoffed and folded his arms. "Your Henry?" he finished for her, chuckling as she tried to hide her blush by rolling her eyes. Then he sighed and unfolded his arms, choosing to let her off the hook. "I will study these further but I'll also need any forensic and witness statements."

She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and unfolded it, giving it to him. It was a copy of her notes from when she and Mike had jointly interviewed Mrs. Periwinkle. He picked it up and skimmed over it. "Is this witness interview the only one?" She nodded. "Hmmm, you suspect her, right?" She nodded again. "Smart," he said, nodding. "Little old ladies are notorious for hiding their sinister sides behind their floral dresses and lavender perfume."

"Ran into more than one sinister old lady in your time?" she asked teasingly. "Not all of them are sinister, Morgan." Even though she'd called him Henry earlier, she had to mentally distinguish between the two men in her mind. This one was Morgan. Others had begun to joke and even she had to admit how her voice gently caressed her ME's first name.

Images of his Abigail fleeted across his mind and he became temporarily lost in the memory of her smile, the way she'd worn her hair, the way she'd fit so comfortably into the crook of his arm. "I stand corrected, Martinez," he replied warmly and then cleared his throat.

"If I help you to do this, will you do something for me?" he asked guardedly.

"Depends on what it is and if I can," she replied truthfully.

"Is there a scientist or physicist, perhaps, who might be able to help your friend and me resume our rightful places? No offense, Martinez, but I need help from someone with a greater understanding of what has happened to us. Now, I'm sure that your friend is also trying to find someone to help him," he told her. "It must be someone who can be trusted not to share anything about me with anyone else."

"No one immediately comes to mind," she stated. Then a thought came to her. "Come to think of it, I do know someone." She grinned at him and added, "And he can be trusted to keep things secret about you and our Henry."

"And you're certain of this?"

"Absolutely. He simply adores his boss and should take quite a shine to you," she replied, smirking.

"His boss? Hmmm. Well. Who is this man?"

"Henry's trusted assistant, Lucas Wahl."

"Oh. Dear Lord. I almost forgot. You have one of those, too."