There seem to be two Malcolm Macarthurs in prison, depending on who you talk to.
The tabloid image, constructed on the last pictures we have of Macarthur as a bow-tied defendant 20 years ago, is of a purple-shirted dandy who smokes Havana cigars, is disdainful of other prisoners and has never expressed remorse for murdering Nurse Bridie Gargan.
A more sympathetic picture emerges from prisoners who got to know him in recent years in the training unit of Mountjoy Prison. One told The Irish Times that Macarthur is "knowledgeable and well-read but he doesn't flaunt it".
More importantly, this man says Macarthur is "constantly filled with a sense of horror" at what he did. "He is absolutely unrelenting in refusing to allow anyone to suggest there was anything excusable in what he did. But he realises he can't undo anything and he doesn't believe he can do anything for the Dunne family [Macarthur is the chief suspect in the murder of Donal Dunne in 1982]."
Macarthur also rejects any notion that his actions were those of a madman, his friend says. "Malcolm figured out what he had done long before he was sentenced. He snapped out of it on the night he was arrested. Ever since, he has known that he's not entitled to his life."
Everyone agrees that Macarthur has been a model prisoner who has never created any difficulties for the authorities. He follows a disciplined routine and spends his time learning, reading and writing. But, as with many shy and diffident people, his reticence has been interpreted by some as arrogance.
"He's a man of great ability mentally. He doesn't like to associate with other prisoners, not because he doesn't like their company, but because he doesn't want to seem overbearing."
As one of the State's best-known prisoners, there are other considerations. A few years ago, he joined in a quiz at the training unit, and his team did well. But the story, when it later appeared in the tabloids, was used against him.
Like all prisoners in the training unit, Macarthur has a cell to himself. Prisoners are locked in at 9.30 p.m. until the following morning and they have to summon a warder if they need to use the toilet during the night.
Macarthur has completed many courses in his lengthy spell in jail and is considered something of a computer wizard. He sometimes writes letters on behalf of other prisoners with literacy problems and he also dabbles in creative writing.
He watches television along with other prisoners and likes to guess the answers to Who Wants To Be A Millionaire. His tastes run to high-brow; when he borrows a video from the prison library, it's more likely to be the 1960s version of Ulysses than a Hollywood blockbuster.
Macarthur wears ordinary clothes - slacks and a shirt - and prison-issue shoes. "He's an impoverished man who is glad of a gift of used clothes. He used to be delighted when I had an old copy of The Irish Times to pass on to him. In the winter, he'd save up to buy a course of vitamins."
Because of his good behaviour and lengthy sentence, Macarthur is entitled to full privileges. But he doesn't make full use of the daily phone call to which he is entitled and, with time, the number of visitors has declined. His partner, Brenda Little, and their son, Colin, who is now an academic, are his most frequent visitors these days.
Earlier this year, he was moved for his own safety to a more secure unit in Arbour Hill after his name figured in an allegation that he engaged the services of a rent boy in the 1980s.
Macarthur rejected the allegation outright and offered to co-operate with the Laffoy commission on child abuse, to which the allegation was made.
Only Macarthur knows what plans he has if he is ever released. But his friend believes that he would choose to leave Ireland and start a new life elsewhere.
