“Who? . . . No, I’m thinking we give you a space helmet and some assless chaps and call you . . . Butt Rogers.”
When Nikki jumped in and told him they were there to talk about Horst Meuller, Podemski stuck the plastic spoon back in the wide-mouthed deli cup and frowned while he finished chewing. “You cops?”
Nikki dodged telling an outright lie by saying, “You already spoke to one of my squad members, a Detective Rhymer?” When that seemed enough of an answer, she pressed forward. Heat wasn’t sure what she was looking for yet, but Captain Montrose had gone to great effort to leave her a posthumous clue leading to Podemski’s agency. He had also told her to be careful, although her assessment of the agent himself was that he was more colorful than dangerous, a lovable schemer straight out of Broadway Danny Rose.
Nikki told Podemski she was with his client the day he got shot but that Horst had been uncooperative. “Do you have any idea why he won’t speak to us?”
“That kid, I dunno. Since the boyfriend passed on, he hasn’t been the same. His act as Hans Alloffur is my big draw. But he ducked out on me after his pal Alan died, didn’t even tell me where he moved.”
Nikki remembered that from Rhymer’s report, which was why her plan with Phil Podemski was to drill down more on the dead lover, since that was driving Meuller’s actions. She flipped up the cover of her notebook. “Tell me about the boyfriend. Alan who?”
“Barclay. Nice guy. Older than Horst, maybe fifty. In good shape but had one of those gray complexions with the hollow eyes and dark circles like you see on people in nursing homes.”
Rook said, “And health food stores.” Nikki shot him a look. “OK, tell me I’m wrong.”
She turned back to Podemski. “He had some cardiac problems, right?”
“Yeah, that’s how he kicked. Tragedy.” The agent stirred his cold oatmeal and shook his head. “I never got that demo reel he said he’d make for my agency.”
“Was he in advertising?”
“Nuh-uh. Cameraman.” Phil held up both hands. “Videographer, pardon me.”
“What sort of video, Mr. Podemski?”
“Reality TV. You ever watch that show Payback Playback?”
Rook sat upright. “I love that show.” Nikki shrugged, unfamiliar with it. “You haven’t seen it? It’s great. Every week they have a different victim who has been screwed by someone—personal relationship, car mechanic, whatever—and they devise a hidden camera payback for the creep and play it back with him sitting right there in front of a nasty studio audience that yells, ‘Playback’s a bitch!’ ”
“My loss,” she said. “So did this Alan Barclay do any other kind of video work? Anything like porn or maybe bondage videos?” It was a long shot, but she had to ask, given where the case started.
“Porn? No way. I’d bet the farm against that.”
Nikki asked, “How come?”
“He was too religious. Strict Catholic. Alan was always trying to get Horst to give up the strip clubs and go legit. Maybe try out for Alvin Ailey or Juilliard. Messing with my income, that guy, may he rest in peace. Even tried to get his pastor to convert him.”
Rook blurted the question before Nikki could. “Do you know who Alan Barclay’s pastor was?”
“Sure I do. He’s the one who got murdered. It was on the news the day after I met him.”
Heat exchanged a glance with Rook and asked, “Where did you meet him?”
“Right here. The morning before he was killed. He was camped out in the hall when I came to open up. Said Horst Meuller told him to meet him here at nine sharp, so I let him in. All the while, I’m wondering how the hell do I entertain a priest? But Horst shows up pretty quick. Naturally, I ask him where he’s been, and he says never mind—he’s very nervous, freaked even. Then he and the priest take a walk. Last time I saw Horst till I heard he got shot.”