Tightrope (Burning Cove #3)(38)

She forced herself to focus on what they had learned from Webster—not on the smooth, easy manner in which Matthias controlled his powerful vehicle; not on the way his strong hand gripped the polished gearshift.

“You’ve got a theory about the keys, don’t you?” she said.

“I can’t be sure, not yet at any rate, but I think there is a possibility that Pickwell was referring to some critical components of the cipher machine. We need to take Futuro apart piece by piece and see if we find anything inside.”

“If Pickwell was nervous about selling the Ares on the black market, why would he risk withholding some valuable part of the machine? You would think that he would want to take the money and run back to L.A. Why take a chance?”

“He knew that he was dealing in the criminal underworld. He was probably afraid that someone might try to cheat him. Maybe he thought that hiding the keys would give him leverage in the event that he didn’t get his money.”

“Hmm.”

Matthias glanced at her. “What?”

“Maybe he had qualms at the end. Maybe he changed his mind about handing over a top secret cipher machine to an unknown buyer who was very likely an agent for a foreign power.”

“Do you really think Pickwell had an attack of conscience?”

“I guess we’ll never know.”

“His motive for hiding the keys doesn’t matter now.” Matthias changed gears with a fluid motion. “Our first priority is to find them.”

Amalie did a little drumroll on her small handbag with her polished nails.

“Do you think whoever shot Pickwell and stole the machine knows that there are some missing parts?”

Matthias turned onto Cliff Road. “No way to know for sure but it would explain the break-in at your inn the other night.”

“What do you think the keys look like?”

“I have no idea. I told you, all I found in the workshop of the inventor who created the Ares was a rough sketch. That’s how I figured out that the machine looks a lot like a typewriter. But I don’t have any more details.”

“I don’t suppose the Ares machine came with an instruction manual?”

“No, but there must have been some detailed wiring schematics,” Matthias said. He paused. “Huh.”

He fell silent. Amalie glanced at him and knew that he was lost in thought, examining the problem in his head, looking for the road map that would lead to the answers. He would talk when he was ready.

She settled back and contemplated the moonlight-infused fog that was rolling in off the sea. She could become accustomed to late-night drives in a convertible with Matthias beside her, she decided.

After a while he surfaced from his thoughts.

“If Pickwell hid the keys, maybe he also concealed the schematics,” he said. “I need to get back into his workshop.”

She turned her head to look at him. “You searched it already?”

“As soon as I picked up his trail. But the place is a junkyard, Amalie. And I was in a hurry. There’s a real possibility that I overlooked something important.”

“Where is Pickwell’s workshop?”

“Playa Dorada. It’s a small town south of L.A.”

“Why would Pickwell leave something critically important and extremely valuable in his workshop? I would think that he would want to keep it with him or hide it in a safe.”

“Safes are too obvious. Trust me, if I had found a safe in his workshop, I would have cracked it.”

“You can crack safes?”

“I’m good with locks.”

“Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

He hesitated and then nodded once. “Go ahead. You’ve got a right. I asked you about Abbotsville.”

“Yes, you did. And you appeared to believe me when I told you my story, even though the police and the press doubted my version of events. Tonight you seemed very certain that Seymour Webster was telling the truth when he said Pickwell’s last words were about giving the keys to the robot.”

“Weren’t you inclined to believe him, too?”

“Well, yes. It seems an unlikely story to invent on the spur of the moment. But that’s not my point. You trust your intuition when it comes to separating truth and lies, don’t you?”

“Most of the time. I’m not infallible.”

“Evidently you’ve got people like Luther Pell convinced that you’re very, very good at what you do.”

Matthias flexed his hands on the steering wheel. She got the feeling that he was bracing himself.

“There are a lot of people in my family who have better than average intuition,” he said. “I’m one of them.”

“Right. You said there were a lot of psychics on your family tree. No offense, but everyone thinks they have better than average intuition. My father always claimed that I have flyer’s intuition.”

Matthias glanced at her. “It’s obvious from the way you move that you have a sense of balance and timing and an awareness of the space around you that is unusually intuitive. I’m sure you’ve got great reflexes, too. Those things usually go together.”

“You’re not joking, are you?” she said.

He did not take his eyes off the road. “Is it so hard to believe I’ve got a certain talent for detecting lies?”