Detective Peter Pux stood across from Max Jones in the interrogation room, studying the man who was their top suspect in the string of murders.

Jones was a tall, muscular man with cold, hard eyes that seemed to bore into Pux's soul. He sat at the table, arms crossed over his chest, a smirk on his face.

"You've got nothing on me," he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "I don't know anything about these murders you're talking about."

Pux took a deep breath, trying to remain calm. He knew that interrogating a suspect like Jones would be a challenge, but he was determined to get to the truth.

"Let's start with your alibi," Pux said, pulling out his notebook. "Where were you on the night of the first murder?"

Jones sneered. "I was at home, alone. No witnesses to back me up."

Pux knew that it would be difficult to prove Jones's guilt without concrete evidence, but he couldn't shake the feeling that the man was hiding something. He pressed on, asking questions about Jones's past and his motive for the murders.

But Jones remained tight-lipped, refusing to give any information. Frustrated, Pux ended the interrogation and left the room, determined to find a way to break Jones's alibi and bring him to justice.

As he walked down the hall, Pux couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something important. He knew he had to find a way to get inside Jones's head and uncover the truth. But how?