Death by Pride: A Kyle Callahan Mystery

by Mark McNease

  “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 Thirty-Eight

  “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, meaning 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?”

  “Yeah,” Chloe replied, her voice tinny through the phone.

  “Hang on, Chloe, I’m putting you on speaker.” A second later they could hear her voice filling the back seat as Kyle said, “You still there?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “So what’s this about a suit?”

  “Well, there was this guy who came in late for lunch, just about time to close the kitchen. You know Danny, he never turns anyone away unless he has to. So he served him.”

  “What did this man look like, Chloe?”

  “Tallish. Handso
me. Older for sure, in his forties. Said he’d just got back from Europe and he owned a suit store, men’s store, whatever.”

  Linda mouthed the words, “Oh my God” and started to say something, but Kyle shushed her.

  “So what happened then?” he asked

  “Then? The guy left. He ate, gave Danny his card, and left.”

  “Chloe, thank you for the information. It’s very, very helpful.”

  Kyle was about to hang up when Chloe said, “Kyle? Please don’t tell Danny I told you. He wanted me to keep it a secret. About the suit, I mean.”

  Kyle laughed for the first time in two days. “Well, I knew you didn’t mean about the man, Chloe. Danny’s not the straying sort. His eye might wander, all eyes do, but that’s as far afield as we go. And don’t worry, if this is the man I think it was, Danny will be very relieved you told me.”

  Kyle hung up. The taxi was now at 72nd Street and they had a decision to make.

  “Do we go to the store instead?” Kyle said. “Danny left an hour ago, he’s probably there now.”

  Linda was undecided: should they veer from their plans and head to the store, or stay on mission. The store wasn’t that far from the townhouse, they could do both, but first she wanted to make sure Keller wasn’t home.

  “Let’s stay on track,” she said. “We’ll go to the townhouse, have the taxi wait outside while we see if Keller’s home, then make a beeline to the store. If Keller’s the Pride Killer, he’s not claiming his victims at a highly visible store on Lexington Avenue. If Danny’s there, he’s safe for the moment.”

  Kyle sighed—a deep exhale of anxiety and adrenaline. He was perched on the very edge of the backseat now. They were just a block away from the townhouse. He leaned up to the partition, handed the driver a $20 and said, “Listen, we need you to wait when we get there. Keep the meter running. If no one’s home we have a second stop. If this person is home, just keep the change and go.”

  “Fine,” said the driver. It was the only word he’d uttered in fifty blocks.

  CHAPTER Thirty-Nine

  Danny listened in horror as his cell phone buzzed. He kept it on vibrate at the restaurant, and now, helpless, he heard it shaking and rattling just out of reach. He knew it must be Kyle—Chloe and the others at Margaret’s only called him in cases of emergency, knowing he needed his away-time from the demands of the job.

  He had no idea how long he’d been unconscious. Obviously long enough for Diedrich Keller to get him to a gurney and secure him with straps. He was still fully clothed, which was a very minor relief. He also knew he had fallen into the trap of the man known for years as the elusive Pride Killer. How could he be so stupid, he wondered. How could he not have realized that while there were coincidences in life all the time, having Diedrich Keller come into the restaurant for lunch just hours after Kyle and Linda spoke to him was not one of them? Had his judgment been dulled by all the emotions of the past few months? Had he let his guard down so far he had no instincts left—if he’d ever had them at all? How, exactly, did he allow himself to be lured into this position, which may well prove to be his last?

  “It’s your husband,” D said, glancing at the phone and seeing Kyle’s name on the caller ID. “Shall I answer it?”

  Danny knew the man was toying with him. He wouldn’t be surprised if he answered the phone to torture Kyle with the knowledge of what was about to happen. Danny said nothing, hoping his silence would keep Keller from taking the call.

  “No,” said D, letting the phone ring a fourth time and go into voicemail. “Better he and that bitch he’s with find out about you when it’s too late.”

  “What are you going to do?” Danny said, his voice hoarse as his wits slowly came back to him.

  “Do you know who I am?”

  “You’re the Pride Killer.”

  “Then that answers your question.”

  Danny felt himself growing damp with sweat, yet the basement was nearly cold from an air conditioner he could see mounted in a small blacked-out window in a far corner of the ceiling. He forced himself to become fully alert, lifting his head as far as he could—there was a restraint of some kind lashed across his forehead. A belt? A strap? He couldn’t tell, but he was able to bend his head up just a bit, and turn his neck slightly from side to side.

  He was not in the main basement room, he was sure of that. He’d made it to the bottom of the stairs … it was coming back to him now. He’d felt his knees begin to wobble as he got down the stairs and into the well-furnished cellar. Diedrich Keller had taken pains to make his killer’s lair as deceptively arranged as his townhouse. There was a large leather couch and two matching armchairs, Danny remembered that. There was some kind of artwork on the walls, imitation modern art that reminded Danny of Pollock and Warhol, one above the couch, another above a low ebony cabinet. There was indeed a wine cellar of sorts, with rows and rows of dark bottles carefully stacked in a waist-high rack that ran along the back wall. Danny had been about to comment on the comfort of the room when he realized the wooziness he’d been feeling was not natural. His legs began to buckle and he lunged for the couch, saying, “What did you do to me?” as he fell face-first onto the cushions.

  “What I did to you,” Danny remembered Keller saying just before he lost consciousness, “is nothing compared to what I’m going to do.”

  Then all was blackness, and now this. In a separate room. Cold but sweating with fear. Knowing Kyle had been trying to call, knowing rescue was just beyond his arm’s reach. Watching as a sadistic, very successful serial killer hummed to himself and stood in front of a tray, his back to Danny, inspecting tools that Danny could see just on the periphery of his vision. Torture tools. The kind of instruments from hell the living only see as they are about to die.

  The taxi pulled up in front of Diedrich Keller’s townhouse. Linda was out immediately, hurrying up the steps with Kyle a moment behind. The cab idled at the curb as promised.

  Kyle caught up to Linda at the top step as Linda pushed the door buzzer and waited. After a long minute without response, she pushed the buzzer again.

  “He’s not here,” Kyle said, taking Linda by the arm. “Let’s go to the store.”

  “Wait just a minute, I’m not so sure …” She cocked her head and listened.

  “What are you …”

  “Shh!” She listened carefully, as if she heard a very small voice on the wind. She slowly turned her head, looking for the source of the sound. Kyle followed her line of sight, first up, then to the side, and finally down. There were basement window wells, and in one of them a small air conditioner could be heard humming.

  “There,” Linda said. “An air conditioner.”

  “In the basement. Why would he have an air conditioner in the basement?”

  “And why would it be on if he wasn’t home?” She pushed the door buzzer again, this time hard enough that Kyle thought she might push it through the wall.

  D heard the buzzer upstairs. So did Danny, though he tried to keep any trace of hope or excitement off his face.

  “I’m very well equipped down here,” D said, turning back from his tray. He held what looked like an X-Acto knife in his hand. “You know, I’ve always been quick about it, preferring a belt or garrote of some kind—not for mercy, but for the mess. I mean, really, who needs the clean up? But I’ve gone to some trouble for you, acquiring a few extra toys just this morning.” He held up the knife. “Art supplies, indeed.” He then nodded to another corner of the room, behind Danny. “You can’t see it from where you are, but there’s a small monitor mounted in the corner. I can see whoever’s at the front door. Would you like to know who it is?”

  Danny swallowed hard, afraid of the answer. Was it the police? Would this madman simply ignore them and hope they went away? Please, please don’t go away, Danny prayed, licking his drying lips.

  “It’s your husband and the bitch. She’s looking around. My mistake! She probably heard the air conditioner.”

  Dan
ny discovered in that instant that hope and despair can be felt at the same time. He hoped Kyle and Linda would not go away, that they would know something was happening in this house of horrors. Yet he despaired they would leave and he would never see his husband, his friends, his cats, anything that mattered to him, ever again.

  D put the knife back on the tray. “I’d better go see what they want before they call in reinforcements,” he said. “Don’t worry, Danny. I’ll be back.” He took a roll of duct tape from the tray and hurried over to Danny. Peeling off a piece and cutting it with the knife, he taped Danny’s mouth. “Can’t have you shouting out now, can we?” he said.

  Taking a deep breath, D composed himself. Danny watched in fascinated terror as Diedrich Keller’s face changed, softening, smiling, becoming the face of an innocent man caught up in something he had nothing to do with. “This won’t take long.”

  D left the room, humming to himself. Danny could hear the hum fade as the man who was very close to taking his life climbed the basement stairs and quietly closed the door behind him.

  “He’s here,” Linda said. “I know he is.” She rang the bell one more time. If Keller did not answer the door she was prepared to find a way in. Then, to their surprise, the door opened. Diedrich Keller stood in the doorway, feigning sleep, as if he’d been woken from a nap.

  “Yes, Mr. Callahan, and Brenda, was it?”

  “Linda Sikorsky.”

  “Right. I’d say it was nice to see you again but I’ve just been sleeping! I nap sometimes in the afternoon.”

  “May we come in?” Kyle asked. “We’d like to ask a few more questions.”

  “Certainly,” said D, as he stepped aside, waving them into his home.

  The three of them entered the foyer, tastefully furnished with an ebony crescent table and mirror just inside the door. Soft classical piano music played in the living room. Kyle identified it as Chopin, among his late father’s favorites. “Let’s head into the living room and sit,” D said, leading them down the short hallway into his expansive living room.