“But?” Anna prompted.
“He’s a weirdo — you know, his obsession with everything being perfect. I think he’s got that obsessive-compulsive thing, as everything has to be lined up exactly to his liking in his cell, and he’s fussy about hygiene. He’d be in the showers five times a day if we allowed him, washing his hands all the time, scrubbing his nails, washing his hair twice a week, and he’s got God knows how many expensive shampoos and creams. If any of the inmates or us get a cold, he’s paranoid about coming anywhere near and has this face mask and uses Vicks up his nose to ward off catching germs.”
Hudson stopped at that point and asked them to wait. Again he directed his gaze to Anna and hesitated, his cheeks rosy with embarrassment. He bent down to speak softly. “I’d button your blouse to the neck, if I were you,” he advised her. “If he’s got some perverted reason for wanting you to visit, don’t allow him a second of satisfaction.”
She put her hand up to her blouse immediately. It wasn’t unbuttoned to reveal any hint of cleavage, but it was nevertheless showing off her slender neck. “Thank you,” she said.
“Let me go and tell him you’re here.”
Anna and Barolli were midway along aisle one. She quickly buttoned her blouse to the neck. Hudson walked past an empty cell and then stopped.
“Cameron, you’ve got two visitors.”
They heard a murmur but could not detect what was said.
“No, two. Detective Sergeant Paul Barolli and a Detective Inspector Anna Travis are here.”
Again they heard a murmur, and Hudson looked back at them and then back at the cell.
“Well, you’ve got two. If you refuse to see them, then you’d better tell me now, as I’ll have to take them back to the main prison.”
Hudson listened for a moment, then came to rejoin Anna and Barolli. “He said he only agreed to talk to Detective Travis, and he doesn’t want to meet you.” He nodded to Barolli.
“Tell him we’re leaving, then,” Barolli said. Hudson nodded and made to return to the cell, when they saw a hand with a small round mirror positioned outside the cell bars.
“He’s checking you out,” Hudson said quietly.
“Please tell him we don’t have time for games. We’re leaving.”
Hudson walked back to Cameron but said nothing as the hand was withdrawn. Again there was a low murmur.
Hudson walked into the cell beside Cameron’s, took out a chair, then went into the cell on the other side and took out a second chair. He placed them both in front of Cameron’s bars and gestured for Anna and Barolli to join him, saying he wanted Anna to sit on the right and Barolli on the left.
Anna kept her eyes down as she took her seat and Barolli sat in his.
“Okay, Cameron? You’ve got Detective Sergeant Barolli and...”
“Anna. Anna Travis,” she said, taking charge. “Good morning.”
Hudson left them, and Anna looked up and into the cell. Cameron was sitting on a similar chair facing forward, his legs crossed casually. She was shocked to see him, because he looked so refreshed and pristine. His dark hair was silky and cut to just above his shoulders, with a part in the middle. His face was tanned, and he looked to her even younger than when she had last seen him. His blue prison-issue shirt was pressed and his trousers creased, and he was wearing leather open-toed sandals.
“Good morning, Mr. Welsh,” Barolli said coldly.
Cameron pointedly ignored him as he stared at Anna, saying, “Well, well, you have grown up — and you are wearing your hair in a different style. It’s very flattering.”
She found it difficult to meet his eyes, but looking at a spot above his head, she began: “You said you had information—”
“Please, one moment, let me first offer you a drink. I have still or sparkling water: which would you prefer?”
“Neither, thank you.”
He didn’t address Barolli, turning his own chair a fraction so that he wouldn’t even have to see him. His cell, although small, was immaculate. The cot was made up in military fashion, the sheet folded over the blanket and his two pillows stacked. One wall of the cell had bookcases from floor to ceiling, mostly hardbacks, arranged by size. The opposite side of his cell contained a small computer desk with a laptop and printer; there were packs of A4 paper, notebooks, and envelopes all stacked in a neat order. Beneath the desk was a crate of bottled water and a box of biscuits, and a shelf high up on the wall contained pristine white towels. Lined up were various shampoos and creams, a brush and a comb, and shaving equipment.
The barred section had an interlocking mechanism that would move the gate sideways, leaving the cell open. It was a strange feeling sitting opposite him and looking into the immaculate cell, but Cameron appeared to be totally relaxed, leaning back in his chair.
“You wrote to me—” Anna began again, and again, he interrupted her.
“I did, and I have on three other occasions written to you, but I have never received a reply.”
“I am here now.”
“Indeed you are. May I call you Anna?”
“No. My name is Detective Travis. Mr. Welsh, this is not a social visit, and I am here to discover if in fact you do have information regarding the murder inquiry. Please don’t waste either my time or Sergeant Barolli’s.”
“Time,” Cameron repeated softly, and then he smiled. “I want you to know, Detective Travis, that I have no grudge against you whatsoever. You did what you had to do, and I think you did it rather well. So...” He turned and gestured at his cell. “I certainly have the time, and obviously, I have spent many hours pondering my own situation, my own case. What interests me, and I am sure will interest you, too, is trying to understand what drove me to commit murder. I have retraced my life in detail, never allowing myself to feel self-pity, but more fascinated by what moment — was it madness or desire — that drove me to kill. This self-contemplation has opened up many areas about which I truthfully had been in denial; I now believe that I have two personalities, and only when committing murder are they joined.”
“Mr. Welsh, we are not here to discuss your case,” Barolli said curtly.
Cameron didn’t glance at Barolli but continued as if there had been no interruption. “This self-contemplation and self-analysis proved to be unsatisfying, since I have only myself as a template, so I subsequently broadened my research to delve into other killers’ minds. The outcome is the reason why I wished to see you, Detective Travis. My attempt to understand why I committed murder has enabled me to get inside the general mind of a killer, because I have been inside my own.”
Barolli sighed with impatience, and again Cameron gave no reaction to his presence.
“Have you brought in documents pertaining to your inquiry?” Welsh went on.
“No.”
“Well, that is a waste of time, isn’t it? For me to help you, I will need the postmortem photographs and reports and the forensic details. Without access to these, I doubt if I will be able to assist you in capturing the killer.”
“That won’t be possible, Mr. Welsh,” Anna said.
“Then you should make it possible,” he snapped, “because if you give me access to this material, I will be able to guide you toward your killer.”
Barolli banged back his chair and stood up, and Cameron for the first time turned his attention toward him.
“This is a waste of time,” Barolli growled.
Cameron stood up, and Barolli got to see for the first time how tall he was — well over six feet. He was also exceptionally fit, his body lean and muscular.
“Is that what you think, Sergeant Barolli — that I am wasting your time? I guarantee that I will not have any further meetings with you. Impatient little man, aren’t you?”