The Immortality Plot

The Immortality Plot - chapter 12

Ruth Velasquez arrived at work by seven-fifteen next morning. The clinic was tucked in between two recently gentrified properties on Longwood Street. It was a three-storey building and Velasquez’s office was on the first floor. The ground floor was given over to surgeries and examination rooms and was cloaked in an efficient and restrained atmosphere. Thick pile carpets softened every footfall and the dress code mirrored any efficient hospital, starched white uniforms and lab coats, except the receptionists and administration staff. The interior projected a calm, professional ambience where clients and their partners could feel comfortable, at ease and unembarrassed.

As the clinical director unlocked the door she half noticed a dark sedan with blacked out windows parked across the street. She ignored it.

At precisely that moment Mike Delaney was in the hotel gym and spa. He had swum a mile and was now working his way around the circuit. He planned to take a sauna then return to his room, meditate during a Tai Chi session and then call Miles Dunning in New York.

Ruth Velasquez was always the first to arrive at the clinic. The receptionists and medical staff would not be turning up until nine o’clock. She entered the reception area and immediately switched off the security alarm as she did every morning. As she started to walk noiselessly towards the stairs a soft cough sounded behind her. She turned surprised to find anyone arriving so early. She looked at the figures framed in the doorway and she frowned.

Two men were standing on the threshold watching her. One was overweight and unshaven and wearing a once smart suit. He had a round face and pale eyes and his hair was starting to thin. His companion was younger, smarter, like a college graduate with fair hair.

“We’re not open,” Velasquez told them. “I’m sorry but you’ll have to leave.”

“Ms. Velasquez?” the round-faced man ignored her.

“Yes, look, I’ve…”He pulled a badge from his inside pocket. “FBI, ma’am. I’m agent Levinson and this is agent Deacon. We’d like to speak with you for a moment. We thought we’d call early before you got too busy. I hope you don’t mind.”

He smiled then and his lugubrious face was transformed. Levinson’s smile usually worked on most people. Velasquez was no exception.

“FBI? Well, I suppose you’d better come in. We can use the meeting room over here. Can I get you anything, coffee maybe?” The younger man looked as he was about to say yes but he deferred to Levinson who declined politely. Velasquez showed them into a medium sized room with understated neutral décor, a small boardroom table and leather backed chairs. There were telephones and filing cabinets and bookshelves stacked with archived medical bulletins and reference books. They sat down and Velasquez looked at them quizzically.

“So, gentlemen, how can I help you?”

“We are investigating the murder of Maria Delaney, also known as Maria Montalban, which took place in California just over two months ago. The murder was unusual and distinctive. In fact, it was identical to a murder that took place here in Boston some time earlier. The victim’s name in that case was Lisa Chalmers. We are going over the ground again and our people are working on a profile of the killer. You were probably one of the last people to see Lisa Chalmers alive.”

“I may have been. She was a client of ours,” said Velasquez. “I told the police everything I could at the time. It was big news here.”

“Have you heard of the website confess-confess.com?” asked Deacon.

“I’ve heard of it but I don’t use the Internet much,” she replied.

Levinson considered things for a moment. He scratched his thinning scalp. “The reason we’re here, Ms Velasquez, is not because we rely on this website for information or leads, although now and again it does present us with new lines of enquiry or connections we may not have made. There have been various wild guesses, for example, clinics such as yours and ecological expeditions are somehow at the core of this.