Krystian Bala's own narrative has yet to reach its conclusion. He is preparing an appeal with his lawyer and plans to sue the police for damages. He is even working on his second novel, which he promises with some relish will be "even more scandalous" than the first. Does he feel any compassion for Janiszewski's family?
"It's a tragedy for them," he says. "But I hope they want to find the truth. The people who did this have still not been found. There are answerless questions still."
As he is unlocked from his metal cage by a prison warder and led back down the corridor, the soles of his sandals squeaking against the linoleum floor, he stops suddenly and turns round. "Thumbs up!" he shouts after me. I look back to see him grinning, one of his arms outstretched, his thumb pricked up like an over-excited tourist on a day-trip to Disneyland.
It is a gesture so utterly misplaced, so strangely callous, that for all the disturbing police reports, the tales of remorseless violence and senseless death, it is this memory that will lodge in my mind for days afterwards: the sight of Krystian Bala, convicted murderer, doing the thumbs-up sign, a shard of light glinting off his spectacles and half-obscuring his smiling eyes.
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