Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(13)

“No need to wait for a jury trial,” Oliver said. “Within forty-eight hours the robot will have been tried and convicted in the press.”

“You’re right,” Luther said. “The killer-robot story is going to be a sensation for at least a week or two.”

In addition to the motionless mechanical man, the space was cluttered with an assortment of theatrical equipment. Lights, cables, catwalks, and pulleys dangled from the ceiling. The large wooden crate that had housed Futuro stood near the small loading dock. The front was open, revealing the empty interior.

Matthias held up the morning edition of the Burning Cove Herald.

“Mrs. Ward’s riveting report of the murder is probably going national as we speak,” he said. “Every paper in the country will pick up the story. By the end of the day, most of the population will be convinced that the robot gunned down its inventor.”

“That would be a very safe bet,” Luther said.

Oliver smiled briefly. “My wife does have a way with words.”

“She certainly does,” Matthias said.

The report of the murder of Norman Pickwell had been written under Irene Ward’s byline. It was accompanied by a photo of Futuro that had been taken before the demonstration had begun. Matthias read it aloud.

ROBOT MURDERS INVENTOR ONSTAGE IN PACKED THEATER.

HUNDREDS WITNESS SHOCKING SCENE.

    Last night your correspondent was in the audience when a robot invented by Dr. Norman Pickwell opened a suitcase, took out a gun, and calmly shot his creator. A doctor, seated in the tenth row, rushed onstage in what proved to be a hopeless effort to save Pickwell’s life. Sadly, the inventor died in the ambulance on the way to the hospital.

Seymour Webster, one of the ambulance attendants, claimed that with his last breath, Dr. Pickwell exclaimed, “The creature turned on me. I should have known better than to play Frankenstein.”



“Frankenstein’s monster was fiction,” Chester grumbled.

“Sure,” Matthias said. “But everyone has seen the movie and the sequel.”

He tossed the paper aside, took Chester’s flashlight, and aimed it at the rat’s nest of wires that constituted the robot’s innards.

“You’re right, Chester,” he said. “This is sloppy work.” He switched the beam of the flashlight so that it shone on the robot’s dramatic face. “Something is definitely off here.”

“What do you mean?” Luther asked.

“The design of the head and body is quite striking.”

Luther took a closer look at the robot’s features. “Almost regal, isn’t it? Reminds me of the photos of the death mask of that ancient Egyptian king that Howard Carter discovered back in the twenties. King Tut or something.”

“King Tutankhamen,” Oliver said. He snapped his fingers. “You’re right. I’ve been trying to figure out why the robot looked vaguely familiar.”

Luther studied Matthias. “What were you saying about something being off?”

Matthias lowered the flashlight. “We’ve got an artistically designed aluminum housing stuffed with a lot of shoddy electrical wiring and cheap mechanical parts. It’s as if two different people were involved with the creation of Futuro—an artist and a mediocre inventor. Seems off, that’s all.”

Luther turned to Chester. “You just told us that this thing was, essentially, a kind of fancy clockwork toy.”

“Near as I can figure,” Chester said. “And that’s assuming all those motors and wires actually work. I’m not even sure about that. There’s no obvious way to activate the damned thing.”

“Clockwork toys have been around for a long time,” Luther pointed out. “They can be engineered to carry out some fairly complicated maneuvers.”

“That’s right,” Oliver said. “When I was a kid, I remember seeing clockwork figures that could row a small boat or pedal a miniature bicycle. There was one that shot a little arrow.”

“Any chance that this robot could have been designed to pull the trigger of a gun?” Luther asked.

“Sure,” Chester said. “But someone would have had to put the gun into the robot’s hand, aim it in the right direction, and then give the command to pull the trigger.”

“None of those things happened last night,” Oliver said.

“No,” Matthias agreed. “When the robot came back onstage, it was still carrying the suitcase. That wasn’t supposed to happen. You could see that Pickwell was surprised. The entire audience had heard him order the robot to leave the suitcase behind the curtain.”

Luther looked thoughtful. “Instead, the robot put the suitcase on the bench, took out the gun, and pulled the trigger not once but twice. What’s more, it had to adjust the aim, because after the first shot, Pickwell was in a different position.”

Chester shook his head. “I just don’t think this thing was capable of carrying out so many complex mechanical actions. But maybe I’m missing something. I need to get Futuro to my workshop, where I can do a proper job of examining it.”

Luther frowned. “What about Futuro’s response to voice commands? Pickwell asked him to predict the weather and the robot gave a forecast.”

Chester’s bushy brows rose. “Nothing fancy about the weather prediction. Come with me.”