Silent Night - By Tom Barber Page 0,19
gonna take me to jail anyway!’ Cantrell said dramatically.
‘Listen!’ Marquez said, firmly, looking him in the eyes. ‘You’re right. You’re going to get charged for the weed and the gun. And I’m guessing this isn’t the first time you’ve worn a set of handcuffs.’
Cantrell didn’t answer.
‘However, luckily for you, we’ve got much bigger shit to deal with today,’ Marquez continued. ‘If you start co-operating, I’ll make sure that this is just a mark on your record. Nothing more. I promise. I’ll say we found just an ounce of weed and no gun. But unless you want to spend Christmas in orange overalls, you better start talking.’
‘About what?’
‘Tell us about the shoebox,’ she said.
Cantrell looked at her, then at Jorgensen beside him. He closed his eyes.
‘Oh shit.’
‘Exactly,’ Jorgensen said.
‘You know about that.’
‘Yes. We do.’
‘Goddamnit. I knew that shit was a mistake.’
‘It would be pretty hard for it not to be,’ Marquez said. ‘A man died last night because of you.’
Cantrell frowned. ‘What?’
‘Don’t play cute,’ Jorgensen said. ‘Your prints are all over that box. You just admitted you knew about it. A family man is now lying on a slab at the morgue because of what you did.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t kill anybody.’
‘You placed it in the Park!’ Jorgensen said.
‘Yeah, only because some white boy paid me to.’
Marquez flicked a look at Jorgensen. ‘Someone asked you to put it there?’
Cantrell nodded. ‘Yeah. I had no idea it could kill anyone. It was only a box. Otherwise I’d have told the guy to find someone else. I’m not a murderer. Never killed anyone in my life.’
‘Right. Start from the beginning,’ Marquez said. ‘What happened?’
‘Yesterday, some guy calls me up. He’d heard that I was a good man for fixing things. See, funnily enough you were right about this not being the first time I’ve worn these bracelets. I did six months upstate last year for a misunderstanding between me and a gentleman from the local precinct. But take a look at me.’
He glanced down at his body, then looked up at Jorgensen.
‘Unlike you Detective, I ain’t built for confrontation. A guy like me in a place like that better have something to offer. Otherwise things are gonna get real unpleasant real fast, you know? So I became a fixer. That was my job in the yard. Take something one guy wants, trade it with something another guy wants and keep a tiny profit. Made me useful and saved my ass, if you know what I mean.’
He paused.
‘Anyway, this guy calls me yesterday. He said I’d been recommended by a man I shared a cell with in the joint.’
‘What was his name?’
‘The dude from prison? Hurley.’
‘Is that his real name?’
‘That’s what the boys in the yard called him. The guy on the phone said he had a proposition for me. Four hundred bucks for one job. He had a box he wanted me to deliver beside a trash can in the Park.’
Jorgensen frowned. ‘And you didn’t think something might be suspect about this?’
‘I don’t know what the city is paying you, man, but four bills for one gig is good money,’ Cantrell said, looking up at him. ‘I wasn’t asking questions. And besides, I’ve done this before. You guys are always tailing someone who needs to keep his business going and a man has to feed his family. I figured there was a gun or some drugs inside for someone else to pick up.’
‘Why didn’t you ask what was in the box?’ Marquez said.
‘Wasn’t any of my business,’ Cantrell said. ‘Gentleman told me best not to look, so I didn’t.’
Marquez looked at Jorgensen, both of them assessing what Cantrell was saying.
‘OK, so where did you get the box from? Did you pick it up from somewhere?’
‘No, he gave it to me.’
‘You saw him?’
‘Yeah.’
‘What did he look like?’
‘He was a white boy. Kinda fat. He was covered up though, from the cold. Had one of those stupid hats on, with things coming down over his ears.’
‘What about his clothing?’
Cantrell thought for a moment.
‘Nothing special. His jacket was red. Like the ones those guys with axes wear.’
‘Lumberjacks.’
‘Yeah, that’s right.’
Marquez nodded, pulling her phone. ‘Keep going.’
‘Anyway, the man gave me the box. It was all wrapped up with string. Told me not to open it and to place it at the drop-off point. A trash can in Central Park, halfway along the fence down at Sheep Meadow. He paid me on the spot too, which was kind of dumb. Most guys in