Murder Under Cover (31 page)

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 away from where I was standing. The crowd in front of the Twin Peaks bar spread out to give them room to fight and began cheering for one or the other.

Shiva ripped the scarf off Jeremy’s head and he grabbed it right back, clutching it to his chest as though it were a precious treasure. Shiva pushed herself up to a standing position. Then, turning to shield her actions from the police, she pulled a small gun out of her pocket and pointed it at Jeremy.

“Shiva, no!” Rajiv shouted.

“Mother!” Robin cried.

At the shouting, Shiva’s gaze darted toward the stage, and Jeremy kicked her in the knee. She fell and the gun went skittering down the sidewalk. She scurried back, popped Jeremy in his bloody arm, and grabbed the scarf.

“Shiva!” Rajiv pushed Robin away and went running toward the stairs. Derek jumped onto the platform and raced after him.

I waited at the bottom of the stairs, and as soon as Rajiv reached the ground, I whipped around and kicked him in the groin, just like my brothers had taught me. I’d never had a chance to use the move, but it worked really well. The guy dropped like a rock and groaned like he was dying. His gun flew into the crowd and more people screamed. The police came forward then and grabbed him.

Derek stood on the stairs, shaking his head at me as I grinned proudly. Every muscle in my body was screaming in pain, but right at that moment I was pretty pleased with myself.

“Mother!” Robin shouted.

I whipped around in time to see Shiva running toward Market Street holding the scarf. Robin jumped off the platform and raced after her. She caught up with her quickly, grabbed her blouse, and spun her to the ground.

Derek helped me hobble over to assist Robin. Shiva’s shoulder was still bleeding, but Robin wasn’t showing her much sympathy.

“What did you think you were doing, Mother?” Robin demanded.

Shiva sighed. “This really isn’t a good time, Robin.”

“Mother, did you kill Alex?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“Oh, I’m the silly one? I don’t think so.”

“Dear, please get off me. You’re wrinkling my blouse.”

“Oh, screw your damn blouse. The blood has ruined it anyway, thanks to your buddy Rajiv. And in case you didn’t notice, he’s the one who was holding me at gunpoint a few minutes ago. You really hang with a classy crowd.”

Shiva grabbed Robin’s hand. “Whatever happens, just know that I’m sorry, honey.”

“Sorry isn’t cutting it right now, Mom.”

“Fine,” Shiva snapped. “But when you get to be my age, you might have a little more sympathy. A woman has to take care of herself in this world, and that’s all I was doing.”

“By threatening to kill my friend? Nice try, Mom.”

That was when I realized Robin was crying. I couldn’t blame her, since I was tearing up a little, too. I still wasn’t one hundred percent clear on Shiva’s role in this nightmare, but it was obvious that she’d pulled a gun on Jeremy. Was she willing to kill him for that flash drive?

I stared across the street at the man still writhing on the ground, the one I’d successfully kicked in the groin. So that was Rajiv, Shiva’s so-called buddy? Had he gone insane? What in the world was going on here?

Two more police cars and two ambulances screeched to a stop a few feet away. I watched a crowd of handsome men in everything from leather chaps to suspenders and Speedos take off running in the opposite direction. There was chaos all the way up Castro.

Then two black SUVs pulled up and four men in suits stepped out. These had to be the feds. Homeland Security? FBI? I guess we’d find out soon enough.

A few yards away, Derek had helped Jeremy over to a bench and held a cloth to his bleeding arm. I had an absurd thought that, for assassins, everyone’s shots today were way off the mark. I said a little prayer to Buddha, Yahweh, Allah, and all the saints in heaven to thank them for that small mercy.

 

Jeremy was whisked away to the hospital. The bullet was removed safely from his shoulder. I heard from Sergio five hours later that Jeremy had been allowed to go home and sleep in his own bed. I assured him we would visit later.

“He’s wide-awake and surrounded by our friends,” Sergio told me, and I could hear the relief in his voice. “He can’t wait to read the reviews of his performance in tomorrow’s papers.”

“Send him our love,” I said, and was laughing when I hung up. But the good humor faded fast.

Robin, Derek, and I had been stuck at FBI headquarters for the last five hours, answering a battery of questions, first from the local police, then the FBI, and then a few shadowy government characters Derek seemed to know pretty well.

The local police gave us the most grief. Inspector Lee seemed to take it personally that we hadn’t told her about the flash drive and the book.

“Here I was carrying on about a stupid turf war,” she griped, “and you all were playing
The Spy Who Shagged Me
. Not fair, Wainwright.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, mostly meaning it. “I barely knew what was going on.”

“Yeah, I’ll believe that when pigs fly out my ass.”

So I guess this meant she wouldn’t be coming over for wine anytime soon. But I liked her and refused to give up on her now. I’d allow her a few weeks to sulk, then invite her again.

Shiva, meanwhile, had already made a deal with the feds to reveal everything she knew in exchange for immunity. Given her special status with the United Nations, the authorities agreed rather than risk international embarrassment. Now she was singing like a birdie.

Thanks to Derek’s spooky contacts, more of the story was emerging. All those years when Shiva was traveling for so-called humanitarian causes, she had been a spy for the U.S. government. For the most part, anyway. Once in a while, her loose scruples allowed her to play for the other team.

When Robin heard that, she whispered, “No,” and I felt her shudder at the news. It wasn’t every day that you found out your mother was a scumbag double agent playing fast and loose with your own life.

“It’s all right, sweetie,” I said, hugging her as she began to cry. I watched Derek get up and find a box of tissues for her to use. My hero. I grabbed a few myself.

When Derek sat down again, he took the chair next to Robin. Both of us held her hands as his Interpol buddies spilled the rest of the background they’d collected on her mother.