“Ummm . . .” D.D. was still skimming. “Based on what I’m reading, a lot of these ‘vendors’ have forged relationships with the killers in question. I guess you establish trust, then request custom Christmas cards?”

“But convicted killers can’t profit from their crimes, meaning there’s nothing in it for them.”

“Not money but time, attention, diversion. According to Adeline, boredom is a major problem when you spend the rest of your life behind bars. Maybe for the killers, that’s what they get out of it. Someone who writes to them regularly as well as a small purpose to the week, paint this portrait, design this card. I don’t know. It all looks creepy to me. Hang on, here we go: Harry Day.”

She clicked on his name, and a fresh page loaded.

“Two items,” she announced. “One is an alleged floorboard from his house of horrors. Another a handwritten invoice he gave to a neighbor, billing for custom bookshelves. He was a carpenter, remember? Now check this out.” D.D. tapped the screen. “Price for invoice has gone from ten bucks to twenty-five. The real winner, however, is the floorboard from his house, which has gone from one hundred to two thousand dollars in the past four hours. Now, there’s a happy seller.”

“A floorboard from Harry Day’s house? Meaning a forty-year-old piece of wood?” Alex already sounded skeptical. “How does the seller authenticate such a thing? Why, that could be any old floorboard.”

“As the website puts it, buyer beware. But, in this case, the seller claims the artifact comes with a corresponding police evidence entry log and detailed description.”

“You mean some of these items are from cops? Police departments?”

“Looks like it. That might explain the autopsy report I saw for sale on the home page.”

“Oh my God.” Alex appeared ill.

“Remember, I’m just window shopping.” But she didn’t blame him. Coercing a convicted killer into sketching a self-portrait was one thing. But many of the items listed seemed to be a clear violation of victims’ rights, not to mention the criminal justice system. Crime scene photos, a coroner’s report. From a cop’s perspective, it was nearly sacrilegious.

“Maybe leaked by disgruntled employees,” she mused out loud. “I hope ex-employees, because God, some of this stuff just isn’t right.”

“But Harry Day killed himself, right? No arrest, trial or incarceration. Meaning there shouldn’t be much for ex-employees to leak, and there’s no living serial killer to befriend.”