She started the engine, its soft purr breaking the night’s stillness.“Let’s see what Malcolm Hartley has to say for himself,” she said, pulling out of the parking lot toward Atlanta Police Headquarters.
***
Bill Jeffreys stared at his phone for a long moment after ending the call with Riley.The student union hummed with activity around him—laptops clicking, conversations overlapping, the hiss of the espresso machine punctuating it all.None of it interrupted the focus of his thoughts.
He knew that Leo Dillard was not just any obsessed young guy; he was calculating.The fabricated working-class persona, the careful approach to April, the strategic positioning that allowed him to observe Riley’s daughter—all of it spoke to a methodical mind capable of far more than simple stalking.
April had texted him fifteen minutes ago, confirming she’d arrived safely at her dormitory, where her roommate was waiting.Bill had arranged for campus security to maintain regular patrols past her building, though he knew such measures would provide only limited protection against someone as determined as Leo appeared to be.
Bill opened his contacts and scrolled until he found the number he’d requested earlier from the FBI database—the Dillard family’s Georgetown residence.This inquiry lay outside official Bureau channels; no crime had been committed at Jefferson Bell, no direct threat made.Leo’s presence here was concerning but not yet actionable in any formal capacity.
But Bill had long ago learned that waiting for “actionable” often meant waiting until it was too late.
He pressed the call button, his jaw set in determination.The phone rang three times before a woman’s voice answered, cultured and cool.
“Dillard residence.”
“Mrs.Elizabeth Dillard?”Bill kept his tone professionally neutral.
A pause, barely perceptible.“Yes.Who’s calling, please?”
“Special Agent Bill Jeffreys, FBI.”He allowed the weight of the credentials to settle before continuing.“I’m calling regarding your son, Leo.”
The silence that followed was neither surprise nor confusion, but something harder—a deliberate stop.When Elizabeth Dillard spoke again, her voice had dropped several degrees in temperature.
“I have nothing to say about Leo.”The statement carried no maternal concern, only weary resignation tinged with anxiety.
“I’m investigating a situation at Jefferson Bell University where Leo has been auditing classes.”Bill chose his words carefully, navigating the narrow space between truth and necessary omission.“He’s been misrepresenting himself to faculty and students.”
“I can’t help you,” Elizabeth replied, her voice a flat line devoid of emotion.
Bill seized the moment to probe further.“Mrs.Dillard, when did you last speak with him?”
Her response was clipped and precise.“Fourteen months ago.”A pause, then a choking sound, almost like a sob of grief.Or perhaps even fear.“I have nothing more to say about him.”
Bill tried again, “Do you know where he might be staying now?”
“No I don’t.”Elizabeth’s tone turned frosty.“Agent Jeffreys, my husband and I are done with Leo.Whatever he’s doing now is his own affair.”
Bill attempted one last time, “This could be serious—”
But she interrupted sharply, “It always is with Leo.”Her patience had clearly run out.With an air of finality, she said, “If there’s nothing else, I’m busy,” and ended the call abruptly.
He lowered the phone slowly, processing the dismissal and the troubling insights it had yielded.But more troubling were they unanswered new questions it raised.He detected dread in Elizabeth’s voice at the mere mention of her son’s name.The portrait emerging of Leo Dillard was increasingly concerning—a pattern of obsessions stretching back to childhood, wealthy parents who had distanced themselves from their son’s behavior, and a young man adept at reinventing himself to suit his purposes.
Bill glanced around the student union, noting the carefree interactions of students whose biggest worry might be an upcoming exam or a relationship issue.April deserved that same normalcy, that same freedom from fear.And Riley—already stretched thin by her case in Atlanta—deserved to know her daughter was safe.
He weighed his options.The FBI’s official channels moved at a deliberate slow pace, bound by protocols and jurisdictional considerations.A formal investigation into Leo Dillard would require evidence of specific threats or criminal acts, neither of which they yet possessed.By the time such an investigation received approval, Leo could have disappeared again, reemerging under yet another carefully constructed identity.
The decision crystallized in his mind with sudden clarity.Elizabeth Dillard’s refusal to talk to him had only reinforced his concerns about Leo.If she wouldn’t help willingly over the phone, perhaps an in-person visit would yield more cooperation—or at least more information.The Georgetown address was less than an hour’s drive from Fredericksburg.
Bill stood, gathering his jacket from the back of the chair.He would drive to Georgetown immediately and speak with the Dillards face-to-face.The direct approach often revealed things that phone calls concealed—body language, household dynamics, the subtle tells that could point toward Leo’s whereabouts or intentions.
As he walked toward the exit, Bill sent a quick text to April, reminding her to stay with friends and to call immediately if she spotted Leo.Then he pocketed his phone and quickened his pace, a sense of urgency propelling him toward the wealthy, insulated world that awaited—and perhaps within it, the key to understanding the threat that Leo Dillard posed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
When Riley pushed open the door of the Atlanta Police Department headquarters, the lobby hummed with a familiar controlled chaos—uniformed officers escorting handcuffed suspects, civilians waiting with expressions ranging from boredom to barely contained panic, and the persistent ringing of phones that never seemed to be answered quickly enough.
