Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 09 - The Crystal Skull Murders (15 page)

Carlos Abdo, aka The Bull, is a low-level hood
with a rap sheet as long as your leg. It’s the usual stuff:
breaking and entering, car theft, dealing. He just got
out of Huntsville a couple months back. Right now,
he’s on parole. According to his parole officer, he’s
been a good little boy. Never misses an appointment,
pays his fees on time, and stays away from the wine,
women, and song. Currently, he’s working for Moran’s
Laundry, picking up and delivering.”

“His boss knows he’s an ex-con?”

“Naturally. Parole officer got him the job. Boss is
pleased with Abdo’s work.”

“Thanks, Bob Ray. You’re a lifesaver.” I jotted the information on one of my ubiquitous cards and slid it in
my pocket. Now, to finish up my little file of Carlos Abdo, all I had to do was touch base with Danny and
S.S. and see what they could tell me about the guy.

J.C.Towers was a slight, diminutive man, fitting the
exact image I had of a jeweler.

Dressed immaculately in a black pinstripe suit,
which Doreen furtively pointed out to me with a gleeful
grin, Towers rose from behind an ornately carved desk
and, in a soft, well-modulated voice, greeted us. “Mister Boudreaux. A pleasure to meet you. Any friend of
Beatrice Morrison is more than welcome to Towers’
Jewels. We are quite proud of the integrity we at Towers
display in dealing with all of our customers.” He
looked at Doreen and waited, an expectant smile on his
slender face.

The cynic in me couldn’t help wondering whom he
was trying to convince about the quality of the company’s integrity, us or himself. “Same here, Mister
Towers. This is my-” I hesitated. I started to introduce
Doreen as my partner, but the word would have probably been too crass for such a classy joint. Instead, I introduced her as, “My associate, Ms. Patterson”

He nodded briefly to her, then gestured to the chairs
in front of his desk. “Now, what can I do for you?” he
asked as he sat behind the desk. His face wore an expression best described as pained tolerance.

`Beatrice, that is, Mrs. Morrison said you were an
expert on crystal. Ms. Patterson and I are trying to find
someone who is an expert on crystal skulls.”

If you’ve ever built a sand castle on the beach and
poured water over it, you remember how quickly it melts.
That was how quickly the expression on his face melted
into astonishment. My question must have shaken his
composure for he stammered, “I beg your pardon?”

“Crystal skulls, Mister Towers. We’re looking for an
expert on crystal skulls.”

He nodded slowly and leaned back in his chair,
steepling his fingers on his thin chest. “Are you familiar
with them, Mister Boudreaux?” A crafty gleam sharpened his eyes like the cut of a fine diamond.

“Only what I found online, that there are a halfdozen or so skulls considered ancient, carved by techniques not even in existence until the last few
decades”

He nodded and leaned forward, a calculating glitter
coming to life in his eyes. “There are many more than
half-a-dozen crystal skulls, Mister Boudreaux, but you
are correct in that those six or so are the only ones considered ancient.”

I frowned, not wanting to believe our good luck.
“You-You know about crystal skulls?”

He gestured to his office. “I possess none, but in my
area of expertise, I hear much of them, and I might add,
the stories are fascinating.”

“So, you know about them?”

He shrugged. “Some”

Doreen and I grinned at each other. “Are those things
real?”

“The skulls? Oh, yes! Remarkable-I might say impossible creations-but they exist.”

“What can you tell us about them? Say, the NelsonVines skull.”

His eyes popped open like a stepped-on toad frog,
but he quickly regained his composure. “Nelson-Vines,
you say” I nodded, and he continued. “She-I mean,
the Nelson-Vines is probably the most well known of
all the crystal skulls. The skull is of clear quartz crystal
from the same rock. Because of the size, it is generally
considered that of a woman. That’s why the skull is often referred to as she”

“Have you ever seen it?”

“Once, at an exhibit at the Santa Clara Museum in
California. Several startling features about the skull
add to its mysticism.”

I leaned forward. “Such as…”

“First, the skull was carved against the natural axis
of the crystal.” When I frowned, he explained, “Sculptors always take into account the axis, the orientation of
the crystal’s molecular symmetry. If they carve against
the grain, the piece is bound to shatter even with the use
of lasers and other high-tech methods.”

About all I really understood was “carving against
the grain.” “But that’s how this skull was cut, huh?
Against the grain.”

“Yes”

“What kind of explanation is there for it?”

A faint smile curled his lips. “None.” Before I could reply, he continued, “In addition to that conundrum, researchers, using state-of-the-art optics, could find no
microscopic scratches on the crystal to indicate it had
been carved with metal instruments.”

I glanced at Doreen, unsure if Towers was telling us
the truth or just having fun with us.

He must have spotted the skeptical expression on my
face for nodded and said, “I felt the same way, Mister
Boudreaux. To add still more mythic enigma to the aura
of the Nelson-Vines, Doctor Samuel Borland of the
California Lapidary Center, the foremost expert in the
world in this field, stated the skull’s construction was
carved with diamonds and the smoothing of the skull was
accomplished by a mixture of silicon sand and water.”

Nodding slowly, I leaned back, marveling at the
story and expecting it was over.

There was more.

Towers arched an eyebrow. “The only problem with
smoothing the skull in such a manner is that Borland
estimates the man-hours involved in the process would
add up to over three hundred years”

It was my turn to look like the stepped-on toad frog.

He nodded at the disbelief on my face. “As one British
researcher said, `the blasted thing shouldn’t be.”’

Doreen whispered, “Tony, do you think-”

“I don’t know.” I looked at her helplessly.

The small man looked at us curiously. With a hint of
eagerness, he said, “I have a feeling there is something
you haven’t told me”

Ignoring his observation, I asked, “You say there are
others? Are any of them like the Nelson-Vines with the
moveable jaw?”

The puzzled frown on his face deepened. “No”

Doreen’s eyes grew wide.

“And this skull, the Nelson-Vines, is pretty valuable,
would you say?”

“Certainly, certainly. I’ve been told the Nelson family has rejected offers of up to five million from various
collectors around the world.”

“Collectors? You mean there are people who collect
these skulls?” After I made the remark, I realized just
how inane it must have sounded. People collect everything.

“Certainly,” he replied with a tone that seemed to
suggest that only a dimwitted cretin would ask such a
question.

“Who are some of these collectors? Do you remember?”

“By all means. There is Carl B.Simmons in Dallas, George Bernard of Denver, and Rosalind Attenborough of London. Those are the big three” He
paused and leaned forward. “What is this all about,
Mister Boudreaux? I’ve given you much of my
time, which is quite valuable. I am entitled to an
explanation.”

I shook my head and leaned back in the plush leather
chair. “Give me a second. I’m trying to sort my thoughts
here.”

Doreen took over. “Mister Towers. If the Nelson-Vines
skull turned up missing, would you have heard about it?”

He looked at her. “Most certainly. In the field of
crystal skulls, word travels fast. Is it?”

“We’re asking you”

“Look, Mister Towers,” I said. “Here’s the situation.
We found a glass skull, a small one, with a movable
jaw. It looks like the skull might be the reason for a
murder. We need someone to take a look at this skull
and tell us if it is valuable or just a piece of glass. Can
you do that?”

His eyes glittered with excitement. “You have one, a
crystal skull?”

“No, but we know where it is.”

He rubbed his hands together. “Certainly I’ll look at
it. When can you get it to me?”

I chuckled and Doreen replied. “You’ll have to go
with us. The current owner won’t let it out of her sight.”

After a moment, he agreed.

I punched in Mrs. Bernie’s number and asked
if she minded if I brought someone to look at the
skull.

“Nope, don’t mind a bit, but it ain’t getting out of my
sight. I got my .357 and Max, don’t forget.”

I chuckled. “I could never forget Max.”

After I hung up, Towers frowned. “Who’s Max?”

Doreen laughed. “You’ll see.”

Towers hesitated when he saw my pickup. He
pointed a manicured finger. “This? The three of us?”

I laughed. “We’re all skinny. We’ll fit in front.”

During the ride to Bernie’s, Towers revealed more of
the lore of the ancient skulls. “There is a British crystal
skull and a Paris skull. The specimen in Paris is called
the Aztec Skull. The British skull is on display in the
British Museum of Man in London. The Aztec Skull
was on display at the Trocadero Museum, but a few
years ago, it was taken off display.”

“Why was that?” I flexed my fingers about the wheel
and clicked on my left-turn signal.

He grew solemn. “It kept moving.”

I glanced at him, expecting a smile. His thin face remained somber.

Doreen asked. “What do you mean, moving?”

“The Aztec Skull was displayed in a locked case.
One morning the curator noticed the skull was not on
its stand, but was in another section of the display case.
He placed it back on its stand and instructed the docents not to handle the skull again. Naturally, they all
protested their innocence, so he changed locks on the
case and kept the only key in his possession. To his astonishment, the next morning, the skull had moved off
the stand to another corner of the case”

Doreen grunted. “Someone’s idea of a joke”

Towers shook his head. Somberly, he replied, “No. The
skull was placed under twenty-four-hour surveillance.”

I glanced at him. “And?”

He arched an eyebrow. “The camera recorded the movement. A force, whatever it was, slowly moved the
skull to the far end of the display case.”

Doreen frowned. “How is such a thing possible?”

A faint smile played over his thin lips. “It isn’t, but it
happened, just like the Nelson-Vines skull is impossible. Consequently, the museum administrator took the
skull off display.”

I whistled softly. “That I would have to see to believe.”

We parked in front of Bernie’s Pawnshop, and Towers
finished his account of the skulls. “The Aztec Skull was
believed carved by either the ancient Mayans or Aztecs
for religious purposes. There are many believers in the
world today who insist the skull possesses a supernatural mysticism and that it is linked to sacred world
prophecies once held by those vanished cultures”

While I was having a difficult time believing what I
was hearing, I had seen enough inexplicable events in
my forty-odd years to convince me that as soon as you
thought you’d seen everything, you would witness an
event beyond belief.

Who was to say this wasn’t one of them?

Towers almost fainted when he saw Max. “Don’t
worry, Mister,” Mrs. Bernie laughed and pulled a
Kleenex from the pocket of the tattered sweater she
wore over her baggy purple print dress. “Max is a real
gentleman until I tell him otherwise.” She gestured
down one aisle. “This way”

Halfway down, she stopped and pulled the crystal skull
off the shelf. “Here it is.” She stuck it in Towers’ hands.

He nodded tersely and turned on his heel. The ominous click of the .357 stopped him.

“Where do you think you’re going, mister?”

His face blanched. “I-ah, what I mean is-the light
here is bad. I-I just want to get to a window, that’s all.”

“Oh. That’s all right. Go ahead.”

He gulped hard two or three times as he headed for the window where he retrieved his loupe from his vest
pocket and fit it to his eye.

After studying the skull for a few minutes, he looked
around. “The quartz is too smoky to be the NelsonVines, but from what I can ascertain from such a hasty
inspection-” He glanced uncomfortably at Mrs. Bernie.
“It is almost a duplicate of the Nelson-Vines.”

He handed it back to Mrs. Bernie. “Madam, I would
be most interested in purchasing this item from you”
He glanced uneasily at me, then continued, “To be perfectly honest, it is a rare find”

I noticed he did not put a price on the “rare find”

Mrs. Bernie looked up at me. “How much do you
think the skull is worth, Boudreaux?”

Towers’ eyes pleaded with me not to reveal the figure
he had earlier quoted. So much for his integrity.