Page 27 of Last Resort

“I appreciate that. Let me see what I can find out—discreetly,” Ben said. “Because if there’s a connection to any of my old cases, it’s likely to show up in the worst possible way.”

“I’m trusting you not to overplay your hand on this, Nolan,” Hendricks warned. “Remember where the line is between who you are and who you used to be.”

“I’m even more eager to shut those doors than you are,” Ben assured him. “I came to Cape May to start over. But I can’t do that if there are still hot links to the Mob—they might bide their time, but they never forget.”

“You want to protect Erik. I want to protect the town. That’s why I would appreciate your help—unofficially, of course,” Hendricks added with a lopsided smirk.

“Of course. Thank you.” With all the mayhem that seemed to follow Ben and Erik to Cape May, Hendricks would be within his rights to dislike them both. While they still occasionally sparred and Ben remained convinced the chief of police needed to assert dominance, the relationship was much better than it could have been.

“Try not to touch off another Mob war,” Hendricks said as he rose to leave. “We’ve only just gotten the bullet holes out of the squad cars from the last time.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Jenny hurried in after Hendricks left. “Did he have news about the dead guy?”

Ben appreciated Jenny’s help and her loyalty but feared the juicy gossip potential might overcome her willpower. “I’ll fill you in when I can,” he told her. “I don’t want to put you in danger, and honestly, we don’t exactly know what’s going on.”

“Thanks for the chivalry, but don’t cut me out of the action,” Jenny said with a no-nonsense look. “Besides, I’ve got a lead. I think our dead guy spent at least some of his time in Maine.”

Ben frowned, surprised. “Maine?”

“The police released the crime scene, and I went in to see what needed to be packed up before we get the specialty cleaners, in case there’s next of kin,” Jenny said. “I was checking the nightstand, and I happened to see something under one of the pillows on the bed. It was a very handsome custom-made knife. Made and sold only by a bladesmith in Maine.”

“He could have picked it up on vacation,” Ben replied.

“It’s a numbered limited edition,” Jenny continued. “So no matter when he got it, the bladesmith should have a record. There were only twenty-five made, and they cost a cool grand a piece. Pricey for a guy who drove a beater car.”

“Okay,” Ben said, stretching out the syllables. “I’m intrigued. Anything else?”

Jenny grinned. “Yep. He rented a place with a full kitchen, but it didn’t look like he did much cooking. I saw a lot of take-out containers in the fridge and bags in the trash. But…he was an absolute fiend for Needhams and this weird brand of potato chips I’d never heard of. I looked them both up—only sold in Maine.”

“What the hell is a Needham?”

Jenny looked smug. “It’s a chocolate, potato, and coconut candy that’s apparently a big deal up there.”

“Potato?”

She shrugged and spread her hands in a “don’t ask me” gesture. “I guess you’ve got to grow up with it. But from what I could see, he packed in a big supply of his favorite junk food for the trip. I didn’t see any sales receipts, but I found a bag from Samson’s Market. It’s a family-owned grocery store chain that only has four stores—all of them in Maine. Here’s the important part—Samson’s caters to the coastal islands.”

Ben blinked, putting the pieces together, and Jenny rushed ahead, clearly proud of her sleuthing.

“Don’t you see? If Raines was in hiding, the islands in Maine would be perfect,” Jenny went on enthusiastically. “They’re remote, and they don’t get much traffic or tourism. You could go up there and keep to yourself, and no one would bother you. But—” She looked triumphant. “Maine folks are known for being kinda clannish. They know if you’re not ‘from around’ there. So they might have left him alone, but I bet you a bag of chips someone remembers him.”

“That’s brilliant,” Ben said. “Now we just need a photo of him.” He was certain that the manner of death hadn’t left an identifiable face.

“I made a photocopy of his driver’s license when he checked in,” Jenny said. “You already found out that the address was phony, and the photo isn’t great, but it might be good enough for someone to recognize him if he was a regular buying groceries.”

“Great work.” Ben’s thoughts spun trying to figure out how to tie the pieces together. “Anything else?”

Jenny shook her head. “He traveled light. Rather sad. Either he didn’t have much, or he didn’t plan to stay very long.”

“His car plates were New Jersey, registered to a different dead guy but not reported stolen,” Ben told her. “The car’s VIN was scratched off. Raines knew how to go deep undercover.”

“But why come back?” Jenny leaned against the side of the doorway. “He had a sweet setup that lasted for twenty years and enough money that he could survive all that time. The bad people either couldn’t find him or figured he was far enough away to not be a danger. He’d gotten away with whatever he did. So what was so important that he risked everything to come here?”

“That’s a great question,” Ben said. “And good sleuthing—you have just earned your pay for the week.”

“And a bonus?” Jenny flashed a cheeky grin.

---