The Pride Trilogy: Kyle Callahan 1-3

by Mark McNease

  “Do you have a pen handy?” D said. Danny said yes, and D gave him the address of the townhouse. Not two blocks away, not transposed or inverted. The real address of the real home where the very, very real Diedrich Keller lived and so many others had died. He intended for Danny to join them soon, after which Diedrich Keller would vanish, leaving behind him nothing but a ghastly mystery.

  Chapter 36

  Kyle and Linda walked into the apartment exactly twenty minutes after leaving the taxi. They’d talked everything over on the walk and both were convinced the key to finding the killer was Diedrich Keller. Neither was certain yet it was Keller himself—he didn’t seem the type to be killing men and dumping their bodies in the East River. But, Kyle wondered, is there such a thing as a serial killer type? Most of the good ones—successful ones, he corrected himself, as he closed the door and set his keys on the small table in their entryway—did not look like serial killers. They looked like neighbors, co-workers, even fathers and favored sons. Once in a while they were daughters!

  Smelly and Leonard had heard them coming down the hallway and were waiting at the door. They never ran out into the hallway, seeming to think it led somewhere dreadful and scary for curious cats, but they would perch close enough to make opening the door a challenge.

  “That’s odd,” said Kyle, shooing them away with his foot. “Danny always gives them treats when he gets home in the afternoon.” Then, to the cats, “What’s up, kids? Didn’t Danny give you snacks?”

  “I don’t think he’s here,” Linda said.

  She was right. The apartment was completely quiet. Normally, Danny also turned on the television in the bedroom to get caught up on the news with one of the cable channels. Today there was silence.

  “He must’ve run errands. Or maybe he’s visiting with Margaret,” Kyle said. “I know he’s been spending more time with her before she leaves.”

  He gave Danny’s absence no more thought as they settled back into the apartment. Linda took off her jacket, exposing her gun in its shoulder holster, and sat on one of the two small couches they had in the living room. This one faced the window, and she could see a nearly identical apartment building facing them from across Lexington Avenue. New York City struck her as the perfect place to have a pair of binoculars, if you were given to seeing what your neighbors were up to without them knowing.

  “Do you ever think about being watched?” she asked, peering out the window.

  “Excuse me?” Kyle said. He’d gone into the kitchen to make them coffee. He’d also grabbed the small box of cat treats from a shelf and placed a half dozen of them on the floor, where Smelly and Leonard quickly gobbled them up. He could see Linda from where he knelt just inside the kitchen door.

  “I mean, you can see into other people’s apartments here. And they can see you. Does that ever bother you?”

  “That’s what drapes are for,” he called back, standing and returning to the coffee. “Besides, you get used to it. After a while you don’t think about it anymore. Are they watching? Are they not watching? Some people want them to, you know.”

  “The exhibitionists.”

  “Yes, and there’s no shortage of those in New York City. It’s see-and-be-seen for too many people living here. Danny and I don’t give it any thought. Unless I’m naked after a shower and I suddenly realize it, and it’s like, ooops, I’d better put a towel around me. Otherwise having people see into your windows is like background noise, you can’t even hear it after a few weeks.” Watching coffee drip into a cup, he said, “Let me see if I remember … creamer, no sugar.”

  “Perfect.”

  Kyle finished making their coffee and brought the two cups into the living room. He set them on the coffee table in front of Linda and took a seat on the matching couch across from her.

  “Let me just check,” he said, taking his cell phone off his belt clip. He looked at the message icon. “Nope, no text. No email. I’m guessing he went to the grocery store. We ran out of milk this morning.” He hooked his phone back onto his belt, then took a sip of his coffee. “So what do we know?”

  “We know the Pride Killer has struck twice in forty-eight hours. That’s the first and most important thing we need to keep in mind.”

  “Right. A third is coming very soon unless we get past speculation into action.”

  “But action and accusation are two different things,” Linda said. “What else do we know?”

  “We know Victor Campagna went to Cargill’s for a drink with his friend Sam Paddington, but Sam never showed up. He then left Cargill’s and made his way to Keller and Whitman to look for a suit.”

  “Diedrich Keller said he was alone there that day—something I don’t think we can take as gospel truth—and never saw Victor.”

  “But the bodega owner did see him,” said Kyle. “And he saw him come out of Keller and Whitman’s.

  “Maybe Jarrod was working by himself that morning, we haven’t considered that.”

  “So why would Keller say he was there alone?”

  “To cover for Jarrod. We don’t know what their relationship is outside work.”

  “Jarrod as the Pride Killer? The man seems like too much dust would unnerve him.”

  “Could be a front. Never assume there’s a type in these cases. It’s also possible the bodega owner was mistaken. Or lying.”

  “He’d have no reason to lie,” said Kyle.

  “For his moment of fame? Maybe he wants to be on the news. But I doubt it. I think he was telling the truth. I think the one lying here is Diedrich Keller. But is he lying to protect himself, or someone else?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to get involved. Saying he saw a dead man just before the dead man’s trail grows cold could bring a lot of suspicion.”

  “So,” said Linda, sipping her coffee and setting it back on a coaster. “Do we confront Diedrich Keller, or do we go to the police with what we think?”

  Kyle considered it for several seconds, then said, “I think we have one last conversation with Keller, but we take him by surprise.”

  “How’s that?”

  “We go to his home. He won’t be expecting us, and it will throw him off his game, if he’s playing one.”

  “And it will get us inside that house … or apartment, whichever it is. I’d like to see it for myself, get a sense of the place.”

  “Any secrets it might be hiding.”

  Linda instinctively touched her gun. Secrets could sometimes be fatal.

  “There’s only one problem,” Kyle said. “We don’t know where he lives. I tried finding an address with my cell phone but there’s nothing listed. There’s really nothing about Diedrich Keller at all online, except the store. That’s quite an accomplishment in the digital age.”

  “Let me make a call,” Linda said. She reached down and took her cell phone from her purse on the floor.

  “You’re calling Information? Does that even exist anymore?”

  “Not the kind of information you’re thinking of,” she said. “Remember, I’m a retired cop, with friends on the force.”

  “In New Hope, Pennsylvania. This is Manhattan.”

  “It doesn’t matter. When it comes to digging up information, nothing gets it done like a call from a police department.”

  “I hope you’re right …”

  Linda held her finger up to her lips, silencing Kyle. “Hey, Marty, what’s up?” she said into her phone. “It’s Linda Sikorsky. Listen, I’m trying to get an address on someone who doesn’t want to be found. Can you help me out?”

  She listened carefully as her ex-colleague on the other end of the line went about trying to help her.

  Kyle finished the last of his coffee and took their cups back into the kitchen, followed closely by the cats. It was they, and not the person giving them treats, who decided how many were enough. Kyle fished several more out of the pouch and put them on the floor.

  After several minutes, Linda thanked Marty and walked quickly into the kitchen.
“Got it,” she said. “He’s on East 82nd Street. No apartment number.”

  “Probably a townhouse,” Kyle said. “The Upper East Side is full of them.”

  “So let’s go. He’ll never expect to see us on his doorstep.”

  Kyle rinsed out the coffee cups and left them in the sink. He led Linda to the door, grabbing his keys from the stand. “I have to let Danny know where we are,” he said as they hurried into the hallway.

  “Call him from the taxi. We’re definitely not walking this time.”

  Kyle felt a slight annoyance with Danny for not sending a message. On the other hand, Danny knew Kyle was with Linda and probably thought they were still out somewhere on the trail. Danny wisely kept his distance from the chaos Kyle and Linda always found themselves in. He thought it was dangerous and preferred not knowing to worrying constantly. Kyle would call him once they were on their way. The very least he owed Danny was letting him know they were okay.

  Chapter 37

  “This is quite a nice home you have,” Danny said. He’d arrived at Diedrich Keller’s townhouse ten minutes earlier after a surprisingly quick cab ride from the restaurant. Synchronized green lights had gotten them twenty blocks without a stop; the rest was unusually light traffic for a Thursday afternoon.

  “Thank you, Mr. Durban,” D said. He was standing to the side, watching as Danny took in the living room with its fireplace and paintings.

  “Please, call me Danny.”

  “Danny, then.”

  “Is that your grandfather?” Danny was looking at the same painting Scott Devlin admired the day before. D had bought the painting at a flea market for $50.

  “My great uncle, actually. When the family still had its fortune, before … well, everything comes and goes.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Danny, not sure why he would be. Judging from the townhouse, Diedrich Keller was not poor and probably never had been. But Danny knew from working with wealthy customers that for many of them, being down to their last million dollars meant destitution was not far off.

  “May I offer you a drink?” D said, still watching Danny from behind. He decided he’d made a good choice, both in terms of his victim and in his plan. He would have an afternoon to remember—and to be remembered by—then he would cease to exist for all intents and purposes. The memories would be his forever, and he would start anew, as another man, another killer. The anticipation was nearly too much for him to contain.

  “I don’t normally drink in the afternoon,” Danny said. He turned from the painting.

  “Please, have a seat.” D motioned to the plush couch. Danny walked the few steps over and sat down.

  “Very comfortable.”

  “I hope so. And even more comfortable with a glass of Chardonnay.”

  “I really shouldn’t.”

  “It can’t possibly hurt. We’ll visit a while, enjoy some wine, then I’ll take your measurements and show you my private catalog. You’ll be on your way in less than an hour and the finest suit you’ve ever owned will be yours in a week. I promise.”

  Danny thought a moment more about it, then said yes, a glass of wine would be nice. The last few days had been especially stressful, with the party planning, the emotions of Margaret’s leaving, and now having Detective Linda visiting for Pride weekend. Danny and Kyle weren’t much into the annual festivities and had not been to a parade in years, but Kyle wanted Linda to have a good time, something to remember before going to tend to her dying mother-in-law. Danny would not let the strain of it all show—at least not to Linda.

  D went to the liquor cabinet. A small refrigerator was tucked in beneath it. He reached inside and took out an unopened bottle of the best Chardonnay he’d been able to find. Two minutes later he’d poured them each a glass, with something special in Danny’s. He took the glasses back to the living room and found Danny still seated on the couch, admiring the chandelier hanging over him.

  “This really is quite a home,” Danny said, taking the glass from D.

  “Can you believe I got it for a steal? When I bought here, prices were still low and the Upper East Side was not the place to be. They practically begged me to buy this house. So I did. I made it my own, fixed everything up, and now it’s worth three times what I paid for it. Are you looking to buy?”

  “No,” Danny said, laughing. “Kyle and I are apartment people, at least as long as we live in New York. Someday we may head out to suburbia, or maybe the New Jersey countryside—we love it there—but not townhouses in Manhattan, thanks anyway.”

  Danny began to feel just a bit dizzy. “I knew I shouldn’t have had a drink this early.”

  “It’s nothing. Just the first flush of a good wine.” D took a sip from his own glass. “Speaking of which, I have some remarkable wines in the cellar. I know Margaret’s Passion only serves the best of the best. Might you be interested?”

  Danny was definitely feeling the wine now. “I’m always looking for the finest for my customers. Cuts of meat, staff, tea, and certainly wine. We have a sommelier, I should probably have her take a look at your collection.”

  “Excellent idea, we can set something up as soon as I return from London. In the meantime, come, have a look yourself. It’s quite an extensive wine cellar, one of the best in the city, I’ve been told.”

  Danny wasn’t a wine connoisseur but he’d always been fascinated by the subculture of those who were. The temperature controlled rooms, the obscene prices paid for a single bottle of fermented grape juice. One of his favorite shows on the Food Channel featured an obnoxious host named Claire Cracken who went around the world telling people their $2,500 bottle of 1865 Chateau-Something was worthless and tasted like vinegar. He couldn’t pass up the chance to see what Diedrich had in his basement.

  “Sure,” Danny said. “Then the fitting! I haven’t mentioned to Kyle that I was coming here, it’s a surprise. It was sweet of him to go suit shopping for me, but I’m very particular. Don’t tell him I said that.”

  “I won’t say a word.”

  Could the situation be more perfect? He now knew what no one else did: Danny Durban had come to his home without telling anyone where he was going. Perhaps the stars were shining on him, right here, in broad daylight in Manhattan, to make up for the near-fatal mistake he’d made with Victor Someone. He was being repaid, he thought, and quite handsomely.

  “Let’s take a quick look at the wine cellar, perhaps select something you can take to your sommelier as an example, then we’ll come back up for the fitting and you’ll be on your way.”

  “Excellent,” Danny said, as D led the way to the basement door. Danny had gone from feeling lightheaded to giddy as well, and decided there would not be a second glass of wine.

  D opened the basement door and flipped on the light. A set of carpeted stairs lead down. The entire basement was carpeted for soundproofing, except for his special room, his real fitting room. He’d wanted the floor in there to be easy to clean. He felt the thrill course through him as the killing time ticked closer by the second.

  “Please,” D said, holding the door for Danny. “You first.”

  Danny handed his glass of wine to D, saying, “Hold this please, I feel a little woozy,” and started down the stairs.

  D looked at the glass, seeing it was nearly empty. He smiled as broad a smile as had graced his face in months. He waited until Danny was nearly at the bottom of the stairs, then he closed the door and followed.

  Chapter 38

  “That’s odd,” Kyle said, as the taxi rolled through 34th Street heading north. “Danny’s not answering his phone.”

  Kyle had sent a text message as soon as they’d hopped in the cab in front of the apartment building. Danny was always very good at responding. Kyle texted again, “Where are you?” and heard nothing back. Finally, he did something he rarely did since the normalization of texting and emails: he dialed Danny’s phone number. After four rings it went to voicemail.

  “Maybe he’s indisposed,” Linda said, m
eaning perhaps Danny was in a men’s room somewhere.

  “No, he always responds. This is weird. I’m going to call the restaurant.”

  Linda watched out the window as they passed 38th Street, then 42nd, counting as the numbers slowly went up. She calculated they would be at Keller’s townhouse within ten minutes, probably sooner.

  “Chloe?” Danny said into his cell phone. “Is Danny still there? I can’t get him to reply to my texts or calls.”

  Chloe proceeded to tell him that Danny had left an hour ago. As she’d been promised to secrecy by Danny she did not say where he went, only that he had some errands to run and he’d be home by five.

  “Listen, Chloe,” Danny said, “if he comes back or he calls, tell him to call me ASAP. It’s very important.”

  The urgency in Kyle’s voice made Chloe hesitate. “Is anything wrong? Are the cats okay?”

  “Smelly and Leonard are fine, but I need to find Danny. If he comes back in or calls ask him to reach me immediately.”

  “Kyle, listen,” Chloe said. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Danny went out for a suit.”

  Linda saw Kyle’s expression change.

  “A suit?”