Anna saw Jim enter the interview room along with a short, thickset, burly-looking CID detective who was part of Jim’s team. Maxen stared blankly back at them without so much as a flicker of emotion. His only reaction was to stop playing with his shoe lace. He had been in and out of police interview rooms all his life, he was far too accustomed to this whole procedure to feel any apprehension about what was happening. He simply looked bored.
Jim seated himself across from Maxen and got the interview underway, announcing into the tape recorder that present in the room with the suspect was DI James Townsend and DS Michael Lowry.
‘We’ve got a few things we’d like to discuss with you, Victor,’ Jim said. ‘Feel like talking?’
‘Am I under arrest?’ Maxen asked. His voice was low, almost inaudible. Anna had to turn up the volume on the monitor to make out his words clearly.
‘You’re under caution,’ Jim said. ‘I’m hoping you’ll be good enough to help us as regards our enquiries into a certain matter.’
‘What matter?’
‘Maybe you could tell us?’
Maxen suddenly sneered, curling his big upper lip disdainfully. He did not look in the mood for any games with the police. He took a big breath and let out a bored, exasperated sigh.
But Jim ignored him and pressed on.
‘Anna Vaughan,’ he said. And when Maxen just stared blankly back at him, he added: ‘Come on, Victor, you know who I’m talking about. How did you first become aware of her? What drew your attention to her?’
Maxen continued to stare sullenly – and then suddenly he grinned, stretching his fleshy lips to reveal a jumble of large, uneven teeth.
‘Am I supposed to have killed someone?’ he asked softly.
‘What makes you ask that? I haven’t said anything about killing. Why have you jumped to the conclusion that this is about a murder?’
‘Doesn’t take a genius, old sport. You want to pin something big on me. I can tell.’
‘I’m not trying to pin anything on anyone, Victor, I’m just asking you about Anna Vaughan.’
‘Don’t know the name.’
‘I think you do.’
Maxen shrugged, pouted, rolled his eyes, and muttered something that Anna didn’t catch.
‘Can you speak up for the sake of the recording, Victor,’ Jim prompted him.
‘I said if you really want to fit me up, at least have the courtesy to tell me what it is.’
‘I’ve told you, I’m not trying to fit you up, Victor, I’m just trying to get to the truth.’
‘Truth about what?’
‘We’ll get to that. For the time being, let me ask the questions, okay? Now – are you sure you’ve never heard the name Anna Vaughan?’
‘I don’t know the name Anna Vaughan,’ he echoed sarcastically.
‘But you know her address. You went to her flat, just a few hours ago.’
‘Oh, did I?’
‘You dropped off a package … or should I say a present?’
Maxen paused, examined the dirty fingernails on his right hand – then the ones on his left – and at last said in a voice so soft that it was almost a whisper: ‘I’m really starting to get the feeling that I ought to have a solicitor present.’
‘You have every right to one,’ Jim said. ‘But I was hoping you’d be prepared to discuss a few things first. Because you know why we’ve brought you here, you know what we’re interested in, and you know you might as well start talking to us about it. Right now, Victor.’
Anna was watching Victor Maxen’s face very carefully. Hints and traces of various emotions passed across his features – boredom mainly, and irritation, and a contemptuous exasperation for what he was being put through – but she saw nothing that suggested that he was unduly anxious; that he had any particularly awful secrets to hide. Here, surely, was a small-time villain going through the tedious rigmarole of a police interrogation.
But then again, would a serial killer as cold and as ruthless as ‘Santa’ ever outwardly show the signs of their inner evil? For a psychopath, there was nothing so very terrible about slaughtering innocent people. Sadism and murder instilled no guilt in men like him.
‘Feel free to speak about whatever’s on your mind, Victor,’ Jim said mildly. ‘We’re willing to wait. How about we start with Sharon Steiner. Tell me about her.’
Maxen thought for a few moments, then said: ‘Who’s she, a singer?’
DS Lowry got suddenly to his feet, tipping his chair over.
Maxen himself didn’t even flinch. He simply turned his face to look directly at one the CCTV cameras pointed him – and in so doing stared out of the screen straight at Anna, almost as if he could see her watching him. In a calm, clear voice, he said: ‘Note for the recording: one of the police officers has now adopted a physically threatening posture towards me.’
‘Fucking right he has,’ Lowry growled. He clenched his fists tight.
‘Mike,’ Jim said. ‘Please.’
Lowry held Maxen in a fierce look for a few more seconds, then sat back down.
‘Let’s keep this civilised,’ Jim went on, and he slid a sheet of paper across the table to Maxen. ‘Victor, I’d like you to take a look at this. It’s a list of dates. I’d like you tell me where you were on these dates, what you were doing and the names of anyone who can verify your alibis.’
‘Alibis …’ Maxen said, ignoring the piece of paper and staring straight across at Jim. ‘Now you’re asking for alibis, that means we’re getting serious.’
‘Look at the list, please.’
‘I’m not prepared to say another word until I have a solicitor present.’
Jim shrugged: ‘That’s your right, Victor. Interview terminated.’
At once, Lowry said: ‘Can I beat the shit out of him now?’
‘Mike, I won’t tell you again,’ Jim said firmly. ‘We’re doing this by the book. Don’t screw things up by getting emotional.’
‘Twelve years.’ Mike growled, still glowering at Maxen. ‘I’ve been on the Santa case for twelve years, right from the start. I’ve seen every victim, everything that bastard’s done … for twelve fucking years …!’
Lowry stood there for a moment, his muscles flexing, staring at Maxen with pure hatred. Then he took a breath and strode out before he did anything rash.
‘Ah,’ Maxen said, smiling now at Jim. ‘That’s what all this
