Waiting For Wren (Book Five In The Bodyguards Of L.A. County Series) (30 page)

The bedroom door opened, and his gaze flew to Wren’s tear-swollen eyes and blotchy cheeks as she tossed his pillow and a blanket to the floor and closed herself back in the room without looking at him. His heart physically ached as he stood and walked to the door, placing his hand on the knob. All he had to do is twist, step in, and alienate her further by bugging her when she’d had enough.

Sighing, he grabbed the bedding and chucked it into one of the chairs, instead of punching the wall like he craved. The small jolt sent the silver disk Detective Rogers had slipped him to the floor. Reaching down, he picked it up, glanced at the bedroom door again, then plunked his ass back on the bench. If groveling wasn’t an option, he might as well work and figure out who the fuck was destroying his life.

He pulled the CD from the clear sleeve and slid it home. Seconds later, the fifth-floor hallway popped up. He fast-forwarded through the first twenty minutes, watching the fifty-something cop sleep in the chair next to their door. “Didn’t exactly make it hard for him now did you?” he muttered and pulled another sip from his bottle. The camera suddenly tipped up, showcasing a view of the coffered ceiling. One hundred and twenty seconds ticked by in the right hand corner of the screen, then the camera flipped down and refocused on the officer appearing to nap as he had two minutes ago. Tucker froze the shot, scrutinizing the wall to the right of the cop. It was impossible to see the message from the angle the camera faced.

Jotting down a note, he paused as the footage abruptly cut to the stairwell. A hunched man in a black winter hat and baggy jacket hustled down five flights of stairs and out a side entrance. His face was completely concealed and his build hard to estimate due to the bulk of his outfit. The cameras caught sight of him in the parking lot before he simply vanished into the dark.

Tucker studied the footage more than a dozen times, trying to find anything they could use, but the bastard didn’t make one fucking mistake. He looked at the times he’d written down and where their mystery man had been in regards to him and Wren. They had exited the elevator mere moments after the camera had been flipped back into place. What if he hadn’t been compelled to stop the elevator car? What if he and Wren hadn’t shared a kiss? A chill shot down his spine as he thought of what could have happened had fate finally brought them all face to face.

The bed creaked, and Tucker looked to the door, watching the blue flickers of the television reflecting in the dim light beneath the crack, listening to the sitcom’s canned laughter. Wren was probably snuggled under the sheets, dozing as she usually did this time of night. He gritted his teeth, physically craving to be with her. The idea of never holding her close again while he fell asleep stole his breath. The wave of mourning was no different than what he felt when he thought of Staci.

His phone rang, and he snapped up the merciful distraction. “Campbell.”

“I ran Nick Pellerin. He’s clean,” Ethan said.

“Yeah, I know. We had a little action here tonight. Cops left about an hour ago.”

“What happened?”

“Our guy made it to the fifth floor, knocked out the sleeping cop at our door, and left me a message—SC+AB+CW+WC=THE SINS OF TUCKER CAMPBELL.” He gripped his phone tighter. “I knew this was about me.”

“I have to admit, I thought it was a stretch. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“I doubted myself.”

“Is Wren okay?”

“Yeah, he was gone by the time we got up here.”

“What about you? How’re you handling this?”

“Some fucker tortured my sister and now he’s after Wren. I’ll let you decide.” He huffed out a breath and closed his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is a lot of shit to be dealing with. What can I do to help?”

“I have no idea.” He rubbed at the back of his neck as the television was powered off and Wren’s room grew dark. “Ethan, I need to request a change of assignment. There should probably be someone waiting to take over when we land tomorrow.”

The line stayed silent.

“Look, I know—”

“I’m trying to keep the big brother card in check, Campbell. I’m trying really fucking hard not to tell you to kiss my ass.”

“Save your breath. Wren already took care of that. Let me make it clear that
Wren
wants the change, not me.”

“What the hell did you do?”

“I didn’t tell her about my connection to her stalker. She figured it out when she saw the writing on the wall. She thinks I lied.”

Ethan sighed.

“It’ll probably be easier all the way around if you switch things up. I’ll cover someone else’s duty and they can take over Wren.”

“Is this what you want?”

“I already told you it’s not. What did you get on Simmons?” He wasn’t about to discuss his relationship with Wren, or lack thereof, with Ethan.

There was another long pause before Ethan spoke. “So far I’m not finding much. He travels a lot for business—all over the western US. I found record of one flight from LA to Salt Lake City recently, but everything else has been to Seattle and Northern California.”

He sat up straighter. “Nick Pellerin said Simmons had been here at least twice.”

“I’ve only found record of one flight there and back. He brought his wife. He could have driven the other time. I’ll take a look at his credit card trails.”

“What else?”

“He had a couple of brushes with the law the summer after Staci died—petty shit—shoplifting, vandalism, nothing hinting at a serial killer in disguise.”

“Little punk bastard.” Tucker picked up his beer and took a deep swallow.

“I’m about finished digging through his high school years. I didn’t realize he and JT Cartwright spent some of their freshman year at the same prep school.”

“Son of a bitch.” He set his bottle down with a snap. “I forgot about that. I can’t believe I forgot about that. JT never liked Johnny, but after that year, he despised him. He never did say why.”

“Cartwright didn’t return from spring break to finish out the second semester. His grades had slipped some, but I didn’t see any infractions involving the two. Looks like Cartwright’s father is alumni and still a huge supporter, even after they started sending JT to the private school in Beverly Hills.”

“I guess not everyone’s cut out for boarding school.”

“Guess not. I’ll finish running Simmons and get back to you in the morning.”

“Sounds good.”

“And I’ll look into the reassignment.”

He didn’t want tomorrow to be the end. “Thanks.”

“Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Wren does.”

“You’re putting me in a hell of a spot.”

“She’s your sister, Cooke. I get that. There are no hard feelings for doing what you need to do.”

“I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

“Bye.” Tucker hung up and drained the rest of his beverage. Simmons and Cartwright had gone to school together. How the hell did he forget a detail like that? What else had he forgotten over the years? It was time to find out. He reached for his wallet and pulled out the business card JT had given him several weeks ago. He dialed the personal line scribbled on the back.

“Hello?”

“JT, it’s Tucker Campbell.”

“Tucker. How are you?”

“Not too bad. I’m sorry to call so late.”

“No problem. I’ve been burning the midnight oil lately—big case coming up next week.”

Tucker winced, feeling instantly guilty for assuming his old friend was somehow mixed up in this mess. “I’ll keep this quick.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks. So, I’ve been looking into Staci’s case. I’ve reopened it, informally.”

“Wow, I’m sorry. That must be hard.”

“Not knowing what happened hasn’t been easy, but I’m hoping this time around we might be able to find some answers. I’m looking at Staci’s case from a new angle and may have come up with a few leads. I thought you might be able to help me out.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever I can do.”

Time to cut to the chase. “I’m looking at Johnny Simmons as a person of interest.”

“You think Johnny Simmons killed Staci?”

“I’m playing with ideas here, and he’s one of them.”

“Holy shit, Tucker. I know the guy’s a bastard but that’s really messed up.”

“It’s definitely a bit farfetched, but I ran into Nick Pellerin tonight. He said he’s bumped into Johnny a couple of times recently, and it got me thinking.”

“Nick Pellerin? Are you in Park City?”

“Yeah, I have been for a few weeks. I brought Wren here hoping things would settle down.”

JT sighed. “Wren. I feel awful about Patrick and the lawsuit. I tried to talk to my mother, but she won’t listen.”

“It’s not your fault, man.”

“Yeah, but it’s not Wren’s either. I’ll try again after Dad and I get this case wrapped up.”

“I’m sure Wren will appreciate it.”

“Sorry to get off topic. What did you want to ask me about Johnny?”

Tucker picked up his pen, running the cheap plastic through his fingers. “You and Staci spent a lot of time together—with and without me. Did Simmons ever give her any trouble when I wasn’t around? Threaten her or anything like that?”

“Not that I can think of off the top of my head. Simmons pretty much stayed away from me, and vice versa. He never came around Staci when I was there at least.”

This wasn’t getting him anywhere. “You and Johnny both went to that prep school in Denver, right?”

“Yeah, for a little while. I didn’t like it, and my mother hated me being so far away, so I decided not to go back after Spring Break.”

“Did anything happen between you and Johnny while you were there?”

“No.”

“I remember some pretty bad blood the last summer we were all together.”

“No one likes a dick.”

“Can’t argue with you there.” JT wasn’t going to be able to help him after all. “I guess I’m looking at this from the wrong angle. I’ll let you get to work.”

“I’d still like to buy you a beer sometime.”

He and JT had been pretty good friends back in the day. Grabbing a drink together didn’t have to be about Staci or the past. “I’ll be back in LA in the next couple days. I’ll give you a call.”

“I’m in Vegas until the end of the week finishing up a few depositions.”

He clicked and unclicked his pen. “I can get seats to the Lakers if you want to catch a game. We pull duty for a few of the players.”

“You’ve got a deal. Let me wrap up stuff around here and we’ll make something happen.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Wish I could be more help.”

He shrugged, despite the frustration. “If it doesn’t play, it doesn’t play.”

“I hope something turns up. We’ll be in touch.”

“Later.” Tucker hung up. Another dead-end. He scrubbed his hands over his face. Johnny Simmons more than likely had nothing to do with Staci’s death. Petty crimes and teenage rivalries were a long way from rape and murder. And by Wren’s account, Johnny, or Jonathan in this case, was a stand up guy with a wife, kids, and several successful coffee shops. Was he grasping at straws?

He added a question mark next to Johnny’s name, unwilling to fully dismiss him, despite Wren’s glowing reviews and JT’s surprise. There were still inconsistencies in his whereabouts. Nick had seen Johnny twice, and there was only one record of a flight. Why would he drive to Park City when it was so much faster to fly?

He pulled his laptop closer, searching through the Park City PD files, stopping when he came across the signed statement of Markus and Eloise Simmons, attesting to the fact that their son Jonathan had been home and in their presence the night Staci died. He’d said goodnight to his parents at eleven and had gone up to bed.

Mr. and Mrs. Simmons had always been nice enough people, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t lie for their son or that Johnny couldn’t have left without his parent’s knowledge. Sneaking out, committing murder, and crawling back into bed was certainly a possibility. Stifling a yawn, he circled the question mark. There was nothing more he could do tonight. He needed to try to get some sleep. Tomorrow was bound to be a long day. He closed his laptop and stood as his phone rang. “Campbell.”

“Tucker, it’s JT. Sorry to bother you.”

Tucker sat again. “No problem. What’s up?”

“I’ve been sitting here thinking about our conversation, and something clicked. I almost don’t want to say anything because I can’t be sure it means anything.”

The skin prickled along the back of his neck. “Go for it anyway.”

“The summer after Staci died, I went up to your house on the first anniversary… That probably sounds weird…”

“No, you two were close.”

“I still miss her.”

Tucker clenched his fist with the fresh wave of pain. “We all do.”

“I’d been thinking about her and how she always liked to sit in the hot tub and look at the stars. I started around back, half expecting to see her lounging around, and I bumped into Simmons. I think he might’ve been looking in her bedroom window, but I can’t be sure. I asked him what he was doing. He gave me this little smirk and said he was checking out the view, then he walked off. I was going to ask him what he meant when I saw him at the next ballgame—figured he was making some sort of sick joke to piss me off, but his family packed up and left a few days later. I never did see him again, and I forgot about it.”

Tucker’s heart raced, and his hands began to tremble as JT spoke. “Simmons was at my place the summer after Staci died?”

“Yes.”

Son of a bitch. It wasn’t uncommon for serial murderers to go back to a kill site.

“Like I said, I don’t know if this means anything, but now that I think about it, it seems like it does.”

“I’ll get right on this. Thanks, JT.”

“I wish I had thought of this sooner.”

So did he, but now was what they had. “No, this is good stuff. I’ll let you go.” He hung up and dialed Ethan.

“Cooke.”

“It’s Simmons. I just got off the phone with JT. He remembered seeing Johnny lurking around Staci’s bedroom window the summer after she died. He’s pretty sure it was on the first anniversary of her death. He made some comment about checking out the view. I want surveillance on his house and confirmation of his whereabouts for the last twenty-four hours and every night since Wren’s problems started. I’ll call Owens and Rogers here in town, but we’re doing this ourselves. I’ll be damned if anyone is going to screw this up.”