Page 28 of Once Broken
She knew that she and Ann Marie were silently wondering the same thing.Were they about to meet the real killer?
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Bill stepped out of his Bureau sedan and surveyed the three-story Federal-style residence, noting the polished brass fixtures that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight and the perfectly manicured boxwoods that flanked the entrance.The Dillard family townhouse stood like an elegant fortress among Georgetown’s historic homes, its redbrick façade and black shutters projecting the discreet wealth of old money.
As he approached the imposing front door, the contrast between this rarefied world and the modest background Leo had fabricated in his story at Jefferson Bell couldn’t have been starker.The deception itself was telling—and troubling.
Bill straightened his tie and pressed the doorbell, hearing its muted chime echo inside.
The drive from Fredericksburg had given him time to plan his approach, but standing before this symbol of privilege and power, he reconsidered his tactics.Elizabeth Dillard’s terse phone manner had already revealed her reluctance to discuss her son.Face-to-face, that resistance would likely intensify.
After a delay, the door opened to reveal a thin man in his sixties, his posture ramrod straight, his expression professionally neutral.Not family, Bill noted immediately.Staff.
“May I help you?”the man inquired, his tone suggesting that help was the last thing he intended to offer.
“Special Agent Bill Jeffreys, FBI.”Bill presented his credentials.“I need to speak with Mrs.Elizabeth Dillard.”
The butler—for that’s clearly what he was—examined Bill’s identification with exaggerated care, then returned his gaze to Bill’s face.“I’m afraid Mrs.Dillard is not receiving visitors today.Perhaps you could call to make an appointment.”
The door began to close, but Bill placed his hand against it—not forcefully, but with enough pressure to signal his determination.“This is a matter of some urgency,” he said, his voice low but firm.“It concerns her son, Leo.”
Something flickered across the butler’s face—recognition, concern, perhaps even fear.The reaction was subtle but unmistakable to Bill’s trained eye.The Dillard household knew something about Leo that they preferred not to discuss.
“One moment, please.”The door closed, not quite in Bill’s face but decisively enough.
He waited on the doorstep, studying the neighboring townhouses with their similarly imposing façades.Georgetown real estate royalty, Riley had called the Hollingtons.The description fit.These weren’t merely homes; they were statements of generational wealth and influence.
Three minutes passed before the door reopened.The butler’s expression had not warmed, but a certain resignation had replaced his initial resistance.“Mrs.Dillard will see you briefly in the drawing room.Please follow me.”
Bill stepped into a marble-floored entryway that opened to a sweeping staircase.Oil paintings in gilded frames lined the walls—landscapes mostly, with a few formal portraits interspersed.The butler led him through an archway into a room that epitomized old-world elegance: Persian rugs on hardwood floors, antique furniture arranged in conversational groupings, silver-framed photographs displayed on side tables.
“Agent Jeffreys, Mrs.Dillard,” the butler announced before withdrawing, closing the double doors behind him with a soft click.
Elizabeth Hollington Dillard stood near a bay window, her silhouette outlined by afternoon light.As she turned, Bill was struck by the composed dignity of her appearance.In her early sixties, she wore her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a classic chignon.Her tailored navy dress and single strand of pearls completed the picture of upper-class restraint.
“Agent Jeffreys,” she said, not moving toward him nor offering her hand.“I believe I made myself clear on the phone.I have nothing to say about Leo.”
“I appreciate you seeing me anyway, Mrs.Dillard.Is your husband at home as well?”
A flicker of annoyance crossed her features.“Charles is in court today.He’s representing the Shelton Foundation in a property dispute.”The information was offered as if it should mean something to Bill—a reminder that he was in the presence of people whose names carried weight in certain circles.
“I see.”Bill maintained eye contact, refusing to be intimidated by her demeanor or surroundings.“Mrs.Dillard, I wouldn’t have come if this weren’t important.”
“Important to whom?”she asked coolly.“My husband and I have not been in contact with Leo for five years.Whatever he’s involved in now is not our concern.”
“It’s important to a young woman and her mother,” Bill replied, watching Elizabeth’s face carefully.“And potentially to public safety.”
Something in his tone must have registered, because Elizabeth’s posture shifted slightly.She gestured toward a pair of wingback chairs positioned near the fireplace.“Five minutes, Agent Jeffreys.Then I’ll have to ask you to leave.”
Bill took the offered seat, noting how Elizabeth perched on the edge of hers, maintaining both physical and emotional distance.Her hands rested in her lap, fingers lightly interlaced.
“Mrs.Dillard,” he began, choosing his next words carefully, “I should be upfront with you.I’m not here in an official capacity.This isn’t an FBI investigation—at least, not yet.”
Her eyebrows rose slightly, the only indication of surprise.“Then why are you here, using your credentials to gain access to my home?”
Bill leaned forward, elbows on his knees.“Because I’m concerned about the safety of people I care about.My colleague at the FBI, Riley Paige, was my long-time partner in the field and now she is my partner in life.Riley taught a class at Quantico that your son attended last semester.Leo became...fixated on her.His behavior became inappropriate enough that she had to file a complaint.”
Elizabeth’s expression remained guarded, but she didn’t interrupt.
