Quinn flashed his FBI ID to the desk sergeant and was quickly ushered into Chief Johnson's office. The chief stood as Quinn entered.
Johnson was a tall man. He'd probably been in good shape once, but now carried a few extra pounds from too many years behind a desk. His face showed the strain of his job, too, eyes baggy and dark, jowls heavy and drooping. But his smile was genuine, and his handshake was firm. Quinn took both as signs of a man who liked his job despite its difficulties.
'Agent Bennett,' Chief Johnson said. 'I can't say that I've ever really had to deal with the FBI before. But I guess this is a day of firsts for me.'
The chief motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk. As Quinn sat down he wondered what Chief Johnson meant by 'a day of firsts,' but knew better than to ask right away.
'What can I do for you?' Johnson said as he eased himself back into his chair.
'Quite honestly, Chief, I'm not sure you can do anything,' Quinn began. 'I'm not really here on official Bureau business.'
Johnson eyed Quinn curiously. 'Then why are you here?'
'It's about the fire you had the other day.'
'The Farnham fire,' the chief said as if he'd
expected it all along. 'That's right,' Quinn said. 'I'm here about the victim. Robert Taggert.' The chief paused, obviously surprised Quinn knew the man's name. 'What about him?'
'He's apparently a relative of a special agent back in D.C. Somebody a bit higher up the food chain than I am. Since I was in the area on other business, they asked me if I could swing by and check things out. It's more soothing someone's concerns
than anything else. I'm sure you have everything well in hand.' The chief was silent for a moment. 'Is that why that other guy was out here earlier this morning?' Now it was Quinn's turn to hesitate. 'I'm not sure I know who you're talking about.'
The chief opened the center drawer of his desk and pulled out a business card. Reading, he said, ''Nathan S. Driscoll. Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.''
'May I see that?' Quinn asked.
The chief shrugged, then handed the card to Quinn. 'I've never talked to anyone from ATF before either,' the chief said.
The card was high-quality, printed on government-issued card stock, and complete with the ATF symbol embossed on one side.
'I don't know him,' Quinn said. 'But could be he's here for the same reason I am. If my guy back in D.C. was desperate enough, I'm sure he'd call in as many favors as he could.' Quinn handed the card back to Johnson. 'What time was he here?'
'Left no more than thirty minutes ago,' Johnson said.
Outwardly Quinn forced himself to smile. 'I hate to make you go over this stuff again, but would you mind?'
The chief shook his head. 'No problem. But like I said to Agent Driscoll, there's really not much to tell. It was an accident. That's it.'
'I heard that. But Andersen – that's the guy back in D.C. – he wasn't satisfied. I guess when all your information is coming from what you read in the
paper, you just want to make sure you're not missing something.' 'If he's getting his information from the paper, how did he know Taggert was the one killed?' 'That's a great question,' Quinn said honestly. 'I have no idea.' The chief seemed to give it some thought. 'Maybe it was the sister.'
'The sister?' Quinn asked.
'Taggert's sister,' the chief said. 'She's the only one we told.' Quinn nodded. 'That makes sense. Is there anything else you can tell me?'
The chief shrugged, then said, 'It's not much.'
'Anything will help.'
Johnson pulled a thin file off the top of a stack on the right side of his desk. He perused its contents for a moment, then gave Quinn a halfhearted smile. 'As I said, it's not much. The fire was apparently electrical. We think it started in the living room. A space heater that caught fire or something similar. Taggert was in the upstairs bedroom. He was probably overcome by smoke before he could get out. By the time the fire department got there, it was too late. Once the flames were finally out, there wasn't really much left of anything.'
'How'd you identify the body?'
'We checked with the agency that handled the Farnham place, Goose Valley Vacation Rentals. When he signed the rental agreement, he left an emergency number. That's how we were able to contact his sister. She forwarded his dental records to us. We got 'em the next day. They were a match.'
'I'm curious. Why was his name never released to the press?' Quinn asked.
'The sister requested we keep it quiet. Since he wasn't a local, I didn't see that it was much of a problem.'
'Could I get her number from you?' Quinn asked. 'The sister? Shouldn't your friend have that? I mean, if they're related?' 'Probably. You'd think he'd have given it to me, wouldn't you?'
Johnson pondered for a moment. Then he glanced down at the file again and leafed through a couple of pages until he found what he was looking for. He jotted a number down on a piece of paper and handed it to Quinn.
