“She doesn’t have any pen pals or known admirers,” Superintendent McKinnon supplied. “Which is uncommon. Generally, the more infamous the killer—male or female—the larger the volume of mail. And/or,” she added dryly, “marriage proposals. As far as most notorious murderers go, Shana lives a quiet life.”

“What if it’s about Harry Day?” D.D. said. The detective focused on me. “If someone was, say, an admirer of your father, and he wanted more information on your father’s—”

“Harry’s,” I corrected. I couldn’t help myself.

“Harry’s techniques,” D.D. continued smoothly, “he wouldn’t very well ask you, would he? I mean, you’re a respected psychiatrist.”

“I get letters,” I heard myself say.

“What?” Two homicide detectives, gazes now fixed on me.

“I get letters,” I repeated slowly. “Not often, but from time to time. Harry’s crime spree was a long time ago, but as you can imagine, there are people who are fascinated by serial killers, regardless of time frame. Hence, the enduring mystique of Bonnie and Clyde. Given that my rare genetic condition has made me the subject of several write-ups, and in those articles, I’m identified as the daughter of Harry Day . . . I receive mail. Probably three or four letters a year regarding Harry. Sometimes it’s people who have questions—what was he like, how does it feel to be his child. More often, it’s requests for memorabilia. Do I still have any personal items of his and would I be interested in selling them.”

“Seriously?” D.D. asked, expression appearing half-horrified, half-fascinated. Which was Harry Day’s overall effect on people. One part terror, two parts morbid curiosity.

“There’s quite a market for serial killer memorabilia,” I informed her. “Several websites dedicated to selling letters from Charles Manson, or a picture painted by John Allen Muhammad. I looked them up when I received the first request. The big-money items are from the truly infamous—Manson, Bundy, Dahmer. Harry Day doesn’t carry the same level of name recognition. In a list of items ranging from ten dollars to ten thousand dollars, a signed letter from him would be much closer to the ten-dollar mark.”

“Do you keep the letters sent to you?” Phil asked.

“I shred them. They aren’t worth my time or attention.”

“Repeat writers?” D.D. pressed.

“Not that I recall.”

She turned to Phil. “What if our guy started by writing to Adeline? Then, when she didn’t reply, located Shana Day and contacted her next. She’s gotten some mail, right?” D.D. glanced at the superintendent.

“Sure. Shana has received some letters, just not a lot of them.”

“And in the past year maybe?”

“I’d have to ask.”