Free Lark by Richard; Forrest

She glared at him as he started the recorder and left the room. He walked slowly down to the locker room, where he stared at empty benches for a few minutes. He went to the rest room and after five minutes returned to his office.
    She was sitting where he had left her, although her manner had radically changed. She was ramrod-stiff, with wide eyes that slowly swiveled to look at him in horror. “No more. Please.”
    He snapped off the recorder. “That was my day,” he said simply.
    â€œIt’s real, isn’t it?”
    â€œVery real.”
    â€œHow could you listen to such obscenity?”
    â€œThat’s what I’m paid for.”
    â€œThere isn’t enough money in the world,” she said.

6
    Radio station WGBZ was situated inside a shopping mall on the outskirts of Middleburg. Its single broadcasting studio was located on the atrium with glass walls on two sides. The broadcaster on duty not only played records and gave commercials, but from time to time waved at the two or three people outside the window who had stopped to watch his activities.
    Bear Tooth Ryan, an announcer who spun heavy metal, was on duty when Lark and Horse approached the station’s front door. Blaring, discordant music from the station was amplified throughout the atrium and Lark winced as they opened the door and stepped into the reception area.
    A young receptionist, vacant-eyed from too much music, was looking at Bear Tooth. She turned toward them with a lopsided smile as she waited for their command. “I’m here to see Johnny Gross,” Lark said.
    She gestured down the single hall that ran through the building, and went back to staring at Bear Tooth.
    They walked by a narrow newsroom with its single chattering wire-service machine, past a door labeled S TATION M ANAGER , several general offices, and stopped at the far door that had a crudely lettered-sign that read, T ALENT —K EEP O UT .
    Lark pushed through the door and walked over to a cluttered desk where Maurice Grossman aka Johnny Gross huddled over a large Styrofoam container of coffee and three jelly doughnuts. He looked up with a diffident look and a face spattered with white confectioners’ sugar.
    â€œGood morning, Lieutenant,” Grossman said as he extended a limp hand. “And you too, Captain.”
    Lark glanced sideways at Horse Najankian, who was nattily dressed in a three-piece charcoal pinstripe that fit like a glove. It was in marked contrast to the patrolman’s often-repaired uniform. He wondered if Horse carried his piece. He’d have to check on that when they left the radio station. “Tell me, Grossman, what’s the range of this station?”
    Maurice Grossman stuffed the last of the jelly doughnuts into his mouth, and a flicking tongue licked a few specks of jelly from the corners of his mouth. “About twenty miles. We’re a five-thousand-watter,” he mumbled through a full mouth.
    â€œThen it wouldn’t quite extend to Hartford on the north and New Haven in the south?”
    â€œThey really aren’t in our market, but on a good day, if the weather was right, you might pick us up in those cities.”
    â€œBut not on a regular basis?”
    â€œDaily, no. Do you think the guy who sent that tape is a regular listener?”
    â€œIt’s a possibility.”
    â€œWell, our market is really Middleburg and the surrounding towns.” Grossman looked up at the large clock on the wall and stiffened. “I got to go in two minutes.”
    â€œI’d like to go over the rest of yesterday’s mail.”
    â€œUh, yeah. I’ll have to talk to you about that.” He started for the door. “Why don’t you sit in for a while? I can talk when a record’s on.”
    They followed him down the hall. A young announcer was in the newsroom area with a sheaf of wire-service copy in front of him as he hunched over a microphone giving the hourly news.