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doubtful.'
    'Why?' Quinn asked.
    'There was a lot of blood loss that occurred around the wound,' Horner said. 'Since his lungs seemed clean, I'm pretty sure by the time the house fell apart, Mr. Taggert here was already dead.'
    'You don't find that unusual?'
    'Not really,' the doctor said. 'Given the circumstances, I mean. He was probably terrified. The house was burning up around him. Most people make mistakes under that kind of pressure.' Horner looked at Quinn for a moment. 'If you're really asking if someone else did this to him, I guess it's possible, but unlikely. Frankly, Agent Bennett, that kind of thing doesn't happen here in Allyson. You've been spending too much time in big cities.'
    'Sorry,' Nate said, once they were back in the Explorer driving away. 'I just couldn't help myself. I mean, it's obvious he was murdered.'
    Quinn pulled the SUV to the curb and turned to Nate. 'Why?' he asked. 'The wound. That's what killed him. Someone hit him over the head.' 'So the wound tells us conclusively that he was murdered?' 'Well, sure,' Nate said, only now he didn't sound so confident. 'It couldn't have happened the way Dr. Horner said? Taggert panicked and hit his head?'
    'Sure, it's possible. But it doesn't seem likely.'
    Quinn stared at Nate for a moment, then looked back out the front window and put the Explorer back in gear. 'What?' Nate asked.
    Quinn said nothing. Taggert had indeed been murdered, and the evidence had been right there in front of them at the morgue. But it wasn't the blow to the head that had led Quinn to this conclusion.
    Quinn had known what happened the moment he'd seen the body. Taking the contractions in the arms and legs caused by the heat into account, the fire had frozen Taggert in the position he'd been in when the flames consumed him. If he'd died of smoke inhalation, the body would have been curled up in an obvious defensive posture. Even if he died from a head trauma, it was unlikely that his body would have landed so neatly laid out.
    No, Quinn knew someone had posed him like this. Someone had wanted the Office to know this was a murder.
    They drove across town, eventually parking in a lot just off Lake Avenue. Quinn was relieved to see the 'Open' sign hanging in the window.
    He looked over at Nate. 'You stay here.' There was no protest. Quinn zipped up his jacket and got out.
    The building was an old, one-story house that had been converted into an office. Hanging on the wall near the front door was a sign that read, 'Goose Valley Vacation Rentals & Realty.' There was a covered porch where Quinn dusted the snow off his jacket. He then opened the door and went inside.
    The front room had at one time probably made for a comfortable parlor, but now it was crowded with three desks, several bookcases, and a row of black metal filing cabinets. A radio was playing an old Neil Diamond song softly in the background. Against the far wall, a fire burned in a brick fireplace.
    Only the desk closest to the fireplace was occupied. Behind it sat a woman Quinn judged to be in her mid-forties. Her blonde, frosted hair fell to just above her shoulders. She was wearing a smart-looking blue business suit. She smiled broadly as Quinn entered.
    'Good afternoon,' she said, standing. 'Didn't expect anybody else today.'
    Quinn offered a friendly chuckle as he approached her desk. 'Yeah, weather's getting a little crazy out there. Don't worry. I won't keep you long.'
    'I heard we're in for almost two feet of snow by tomorrow.' She stuck out a hand. 'I'm Ann Henderson.'
    Quinn shook her hand. 'Miss Henderson, I'm Frank Bennett.'
    'Please, just Ann.' She indicated the guest chair, and they both sat. 'What can I do for you, Mr. Bennett?'
    He pulled out his ID and showed it to her.
    'FBI?' She looked perplexed. 'Is something wrong?'
    Quinn smiled again and shook his head. 'I was just hoping you could help me with something.'
    'Of course. Whatever I can do.'
    'I'm looking into the fire at the Farnham house.'
    Her face