Castro Street, right in the heart of the fair. As we walked, Derek used his cell to call Inspector Jaglom and tell him what was going on, letting him know that we would be at the performance-art platform within the hour.
Robin was standing on the sidewalk, using both hands to finish one of Eddie’s specials. “Sorry. I was starving, so I went ahead and ate.”
“Where’s your mom?” I said.
She glanced around. “She went to make a phone call. I guess she’s calling Rajiv.”
Derek and I peered through the crowd, trying to find Shiva, but she was nowhere in the area.
“Oh.” Robin laughed in delight. “We ran into Jeremy, by the way. He looks great!”
“You did? Was he wearing the scarf? Did your mother see it? What happened?”
“Easy, girl,” Robin said, after polishing off her meal. “Yeah, she saw the scarf. I think she was a little miffed that I gave it away, but I tried to explain that I only loaned it to him. So please don’t mention that I thought it was butt-ugly.”
“I won’t.” I looked at Derek. “We have to find her.”
“What’s going on with you two?” Robin tossed the falafel wrappings in a nearby waste bin. “You’re both acting weird. You said you knew who killed Alex. Tell me.”
“We need to find Jeremy,” Derek said, taking hold of her arm gently. “Where is he performing?”
Robin frowned at him, but pointed in the direction of Market Street. “He said he’d be down at that end of the street. There’s some kind of performance stage.”
As we walked, I wondered why they bothered with an actual stage when there was a performance every few feet along the way. At one point, we passed a stunning man wearing nothing but a black leather studded G-string and work boots. He was dancing with a sailor who looked perfectly normal except that a strategic section of the backside of his sailor pants was missing.
I told Robin what our thoughts were, being careful not to accuse Shiva of anything. The woman might not be my favorite person, but she was my best friend’s mom, and I didn’t want to hurt Robin any more than she’d already been hurt. I ended up casting the blame for everything on Rajiv.
“Mom’s usually not that gullible,” Robin said, contemplating everything I’d just said. “Rajiv must’ve really done a number to trick her into sending the book home with me.”
“Must’ve,” I echoed.
“Oh, my God,” Robin said suddenly. “Do you think Rajiv’s the one who killed Alex?”
“We don’t know,” I said. That was my honest answer. Because even if Shiva had been responsible for sending the flash drive with Robin, she wasn’t in the country when Alex was killed. And besides, Shiva wasn’t a killer. She might’ve been a pain in the ass and a bit of a narcissist, but she was a humanitarian. She’d always been devoted to peace and love. So someone else had to be responsible for the deaths of all the Ukrainians and the Russian man who died in my apartment.
But why would Shiva go for a walk late last night, around the same time Galina was killed? It was all too coincidental, and I’d learned during the last few murder cases I’d been involved with that nothing was coincidental.
“Oh, there’s Jeremy,” Robin cried.
I saw him at the same moment. He stood on a wide pedestal at least four feet off the ground and he was loving life. Painted white from head to toe and wearing only a jaunty loincloth and the motley scarf, he would’ve looked like an alabaster statue except he was waving his arms and moving his stomach like he was some kind of belly dancer. Was this really his homage to the homeless? It looked more like his homage to the funky chicken. But maybe I was just a peasant when it came to performance art.
The whiteface looked cool, though. And Shiva’s scarf stood out in colorful, sparkly contrast to his pasty white head.
“We’re going to have to interrupt his performance,” Derek said in a businesslike tone.
“Oh, too bad,” Robin said. “He looks so happy.”
I glanced at Derek. “We’ve got to get that thing now.”
“Oh, there’s Mom,” Robin declared, pointing toward Jeremy’s stage. I turned and saw Shiva, looking smart in a crisp white blouse, black stretch pants, and boots, climbing the steps leading to the wide platform where Jeremy was performing.
Robin took off jogging in that direction.
“Run!” Derek shouted, and I tore after him. We reached the stage just as Robin began to climb up after Shiva.
“Mother!” she cried. “Jeez, I’ll get the scarf back! Leave him alone.”
Shiva hit the top step and rushed toward Jeremy.
“What’s she doing?” I cried.
A gunshot cracked the air and a few people in the crowd screamed. Most didn’t even seem to recognize the sound. Maybe they thought it was a firecracker, but I knew what it was.
“Look,” Derek said, pointing at the stage.
I turned and saw Shiva clutch her shoulder as blood began to seep through her fingers. Someone had shot her!
I scanned the crowd as some people scattered. I didn’t see any police, but I didn’t see a gunman either.
“Brooklyn, stay down!” Derek shouted, and took off in search of the gunman.
Another shot rang out.
“Derek, no!” I yelled.
A high-pitched shriek arose behind me. I spun around in time to see Jeremy bobble as a splotch of red gushed from his arm. Tottering in panic, he took a flying leap off the stage and ran toward Market Street, wearing only the loincloth and Shiva’s scarf fluttering in the breeze behind him.
People in the crowd began running after him, laughing and hooting, thinking it was all part of the performance. Shiva, looking tense and determined, hobbled down the stairs on the opposite side of the stage from Robin and ran after Jeremy.
Robin had just reached the top of the stage. She stopped and yelled, “Mother, what’re you doing?”
“Robin, get off the stage!” I shouted. Didn’t she see people getting shot up there? I ran over to the stairs to drag her off, if necessary. As I started to climb up, I was jerked from behind. I fell backward, and twisted my body so I wouldn’t fall on my back. My arms shot up to protect my head and I landed on my left side, smacking my left elbow on the blacktop and shaking me up so hard that I saw stars.
I moaned, then rolled over to see what had happened. A dark-skinned man in a black suit, obviously the one who’d pulled me off the stairs, was storming up to the stage toward Robin.
“Stop him!” I yelled, but my voice was gravelly. I struggled to stand, just as the man grabbed Robin and held a gun pointed roughly under her chin.
Then he shouted, “Shiva!”
Was that Rajiv? Was he the one who shot Jeremy and Shiva? And now he held Robin hostage. Why?
More people screamed and ran for cover. The area in front of the platform emptied as everyone scattered and hid. Three police cars screamed to a halt fifty yards away, just beyond the barricades used to hold back traffic. Several cops jumped out of the cars and drew their guns.
Before I could think straight, Derek came running over, knelt down, and wrapped me in his arms. “Christ, are you all right? I saw what he did. I’ll kill him.”
“I’m good; I’m fine,” I said, patting his back. Everything inside me hurt, but I was okay. “Help Robin. Be careful. Don’t get shot.”
“I’ll be careful,” he muttered, then pressed his lips to mine. He helped me to my feet, then kissed my right cheek and my left. “I love you. Now stay out of the way, for God’s sake.”
“Okay,” I said in a daze. Had he just said what I thought he said? I’d have to think about that later, I thought as I watched him crouch under the stage and weave his way around the scaffolding to the back of the platform.
At that moment, I was distracted by the sight of Jeremy, who had circled back around to Castro Street. The cops didn’t seem to be bothering with him. Their eyes and rifles were trained on the stage, where Rajiv held Robin at gunpoint.
Shiva caught up with Jeremy at the corner of Market and tackled him onto the sidewalk, barely twenty feet
