Chapter 48
And finally, James Miller himself.
At a little before five o’clock, Laura and I stepped into the interview suite.
Two constables were waiting silently on either side of the room.
We nodded to them and they left, then Laura shut the door as I took a seat across from Miller.
She joined me a moment later, the metal chair scraping against the floor.
Miller didn’t look up at us. He was slumped in the chair, and seemed much smaller than I’d been anticipating.
Over the past week, because of what he’d done, he’d assumed a monstrous stature in my head.
The truth – as always – was far more prosaic.
However inhuman the actions, they’re always perpetrated by human beings, and if you’re expecting some kind of demon the reality inevitably disappoints.
Not evil, I told myself.
In fact, sitting in the chair, cuffed, James Miller looked like nothing much at all.
Not anymore. He was dressed in a black t-shirt, sleeves cut high to reveal normal arms, not much hint of muscle to them.
His hands were below the table, out of sight.
He had an average build: mostly slim but carrying slight weight around the chest and stomach.
If you’d seen him slouching down the road towards you, with his carrier bag, you wouldn’t have worried about him at all.
Vicki Gibson, struck as she walked home and pushed through that hedge. She wouldn’t have looked twice at him.
And that was how he’d done it, wasn’t it? His sheer innocuousness was how he’d got away with so much of what he had.
I pressed the button on the recorder.
‘Detective Andrew Hicks. Conducting interview of James Miller, resident at 18 Tavistock Place. Also attending is Detective Laura Fellowes. Interview commencing at 16:56, twenty-third of May, in connection with charges relating to the murders of Vicki Gibson, Derek Evans, John Kramer …’
I read the names from the sheet in front of me. As I did so, the room seemed to grow quieter around me. There were twelve names, and another four victims as yet unidentified. By the time I’d finished – ‘Unidentified victim 4, male’ – my skin felt cold.
I glanced at the video camera mounted in the corner of the interview suite.
In the operations room upstairs, nearly a hundred people would be crowded around the monitors right now.
Normal business had been postponed throughout the department.
So many people had worked on this case, and each and every one of them had been touched by it in some way.
‘All right, James. Do you understand the nature of these charges and why you’re here today?’
He nodded.
‘That was a yes,’ I said. ‘Is there anything you’d like to tell us, James? Before we begin. Do you wish to make a statement with regard to your involvement in these deaths?’
He didn’t move.
‘The interviewee declines to respond,’ I said. ‘James, at the time of your arrest, you were in possession of a motor scooter licensed to Kate Barrett, which was stolen at the time of her murder. Can you explain how that vehicle came to be in your possession?’
Nothing.
‘No response.’ I slid photos across the table towards him.
‘I am now showing the interviewee several photographs of the items found in his possession. Specifically, a hammer, screwdriver and hunting knife that are believed to have been used in the murders so listed. James, do you recognise these items?’
I gave him time.
‘Interviewee refuses to look at the photographs.’
I leaned forward, trying to peer up and catch his eye, but he lowered his head even further to avoid my gaze.
‘James,’ I said. ‘We have more than enough evidence to proceed with charges. And I think we both know you committed these murders. It’s over now.
You’ve caused people untold suffering, but it’s done.
The best thing now is to co-operate with us.
That way we can bring some peace to the people you’ve hurt and begin to draw a line under this for everyone. Including you.’
No response.
I leaned back, folding my arms, thinking.
‘We’ve spoken to your father.’
That got the slightest of responses.
‘He told us you were afraid of heights. He said you couldn’t have done it because you’re scared of blood. Is that true? Are you – ?’
‘I’m not scared of anything.’
His voice was confident: proud, even. And finally, he looked up at me.
‘Your father told us you were.’
‘No.’ Miller shook his head calmly. ‘I used to be, but not anymore.’
‘What about the animals, James?’
‘What about them?’
‘You were scared of blood, weren’t you? That’s what your father said. What did he do about that?’
Miller just looked at me. He had the same piercing eyes as his father; I remembered them from the road, waiting for Laura. He had the same hard face too. I wondered if that had always been the case. But of course, it hadn’t. He wasn’t born this way.
I said, ‘When I was a kid my father was a lot like yours. Worse, maybe. You want to know what he did?’
He didn’t reply, but I carried on anyway.
‘I was only six years old. A small kid back then. Weak – I got bullied a lot. When my father heard about that, he tried to teach me to fight. Took me outside, in front of all the neighbours, and showed me how to box. But he wasn’t really doing that.
He just kept slapping at me, telling me to keep my hands up.
Because he wasn’t really teaching me, you see? ’
Miller nodded. ‘Yes.’
‘Exactly. It was about him. He was bullying me too. Making himself feel strong against someone weaker than him. Sounds to me like your father was kind of similar.’
‘Maybe.’
‘What did he make you do to the dog, James? You had a puppy, right? What did he make you do? Drown it?’
Miller nodded again. But he still had that proud look, as though, once upon a time, the memory would have upset him, but not anymore.
Of course, after everything else he’d done and seen, that memory was probably nothing.
But it tied in with Carl Johnson’s testimony of what had happened on Killer Hill – about Miller poking the cat in the cage, burning it alive, looking around like he’d done something that other people should be impressed by.
Not doing it to shock – or not entirely – but to prove to them that he could.
‘So the animals were to impress your father.’
‘No. Never him. I did it all for myself.’
‘But he knew?’
I wanted him to say yes, for what it was worth, but he just shrugged.
‘I don’t know. I keep my room locked. I told them both to keep out. They’re scared of me.’
‘I have a hard time imagining your dad is scared of you.’
‘My room is mine.’
‘Not anymore,’ I said. ‘It’s ours now.’
That got me a glare.
‘Yeah’ I said. ‘We’ve been in there. We’ve seen that lovely little photo display you’ve put up. Why did you do that to his grave, James? Did these people really mean nothing to you?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘We’re going through your computer right now, along with your video camera. You know what we’ll find, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’
‘So why the murders?’ I said. ‘Why the games? Did they make you feel powerful?
‘They were something to do.’
I let the answer hang for a moment, unsure what to say, and felt Laura shift slightly beside me too.
Something to do. We were both used to the banality of murder, but this was something else altogether.
In the silence, I saw Miller notice the discomfort his words had caused, and a slight smile curled at the side of his mouth.
It was gone almost as quickly as it had appeared, but for that moment he looked far older than he really was. The sullen man in his twenties disappeared, and I had the strange impression I was looking at someone or something else altogether.
I shook my head.
‘Something to do?’
‘That’s right. And a way out of that fucking place.’
‘What? That stinking bedroom?’
‘That’s right.’
‘How does that work? Go on – you might as well explain. You’ve already admitted it. But actually, you’ve succeeded, haven’t you? Because you’ll be spending the rest of your life in prison.’
‘I’ll be famous, won’t I? Everyone will remember me.’
He looked so proud it disgusted me.
‘Maybe,’ I said. ‘But not the way you think. And trust me, people will forget soon enough.’
‘No, they won’t. Because it’s out there and you can’t stop it. I might not have got rich, but people will remember me. They’ll still be afraid of me.’
‘What do you mean – out there?’ I shook my head. ‘And how were you ever going to get rich? You didn’t rob any of them – we know that and you know that. What are you talking about?’
He looked at me. And again the smile came. But this time it stayed in place.
‘You’ll never catch him,’ he said.
I stared back, allowing the silence to pan out.
‘Who?’
‘The General.’ His smile broadened. ‘You’ll never catch him. Nobody will.’
Beside me, Laura leaned forward. I remembered what I’d thought back at the woods – that the scene there was totally at odds with the calm, rational tone of the letters we’d received. That everything about the murders always had been.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the problem: how to generate a code even you won’t be able to crack.
And there was something else too. That name …
‘The General?’ Laura said. ‘Is he the one who sent us the letters, Jimmy? And the video?’
‘What?’
The General. I remembered it now. It was a username from the website Renton had shown me – the one with the video of the cat being beaten to death.
Miller’s smile had vanished now, but he was still too confused to be angry.
‘What letters? What did you get sent?’
The_General. That was the username on the comment directly below the video.
Great work! Can’t wait to see more!