Lark by Richard; Forrest Read Free Book Online Page A

hanging around.”
    Lark spun his chair and plunked his feet on the sill as he looked out the window toward a leaden sky filled with fast-scudding clouds. The day outside matched his inner mood. He was faced with trying to solve an impossible case. There was no identification on the victim, much less any solid clues; and as a partner, he had picked a traffic cop who carried an empty pistol.
    He jolted the chair forward and stood up to hand Horse a five-dollar bill. “Let’s go down to Manny’s Sporting Goods and buy a box of shells. I don’t give a damn what you do at night, but when you’re with me, I want you to carry a loaded piece.”
    Najankian reluctantly took the money and reholstered his pistol as the phone rang. Lark snatched it from the cradle. “Yeah.”
    â€œSergeant Soho at the state crime lab, Lieutenant. Negative on the blood sample on that pedestal you sent up here yesterday. As a matter of fact, the stains aren’t human blood.”
    â€œAny idea what they are?”
    A pause on the other end of the line. “Believe it or not, we think it’s bat blood.”
    â€œBats? Like that fly at night?”
    â€œThe same. Negative also on the girl’s fingerprints. She’s not on file here or with the FBI in Washington.”
    â€œThanks.” Lark hung up. It was going to be the hard way.
    Lark parked the pickup in front of a fire hydrant by Manny’s Sporting Goods. He sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as Najankian lumbered from the truck and entered the shop. Horse had passed up a beer with the laconic comment that he didn’t drink. This gave Lark further doubts over his choice of partner: a nondrinking, unambitious, traffic cop who carried an unloaded piece. It didn’t matter, he was stuck with Horse. He’d requested him over Frank Pemperton’s objections, and he’d be damned if he’d admit to a mistake.
    Horse must be pouring his own bullets, he thought impatiently as he flicked on the radio.
    â€œAll right, all you studs and babes, we’re down to this week’s Gross Out contest. I want tapes. That’s right, cassette tapes of you guys and gals out there doing it. Now, you know what I mean by it , and no dirty words. Just sounds for Johnny Gross …”
    Lark snapped off the radio so vehemently that the button broke in his hand.
    Najankian walked slowly out of the store carrying a small paper bag. He sat next to Lark and slowly loaded his pistol, taking care to leave an empty cylinder under the hammer.
    Lark pulled the truck away from the curb and drove toward Mark Street. “I have a search-and-seizure warrant for the house.”
    â€œWhat’s it cover?”
    Lark gave a short sigh of relief. Traffic cop or not, at least Horse had listened when the rules concerning search warrants had been discussed. “It’s as broad as I could make it and covers personal belongings such as wallet, purse, or back-pack of the deceased. This really gives us carte blanche to toss the whole damn house, but for God’s sake, don’t take anything that isn’t covered in the warrant. If we find anything else, we’ll have to go for a new warrant before we grab it.”
    â€œI know.”
    â€œThere’s one thing in particular we want to look for: a room that looks soundproofed.”
    Najankian looked puzzled. “How’s that?”
    â€œThe girl was tortured without being gagged. There would have been one hell of a lot of noise.”
    â€œSon of a bitch,” Horse mumbled, nearly to himself. The large traffic patrolman was morosely silent during the remainder of the drive to the house on Mark Street. He finally spoke when Lark braked to a halt at the curb. “Question, Lieutenant. What about those threads we found on the bush? If they came from the victim’s clothing, that means she was probably carried from the highway and dumped where we found