Chapter 6: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 6

Chapter 5 shifted the spotlight to the people and places quietly shaping the investigation—none more so than Mrs. O’Hara and the McLeod farm itself.

Over a simple meal of Irish stew, Detective Jean Lavallee listened as Harris Bay’s most observant boarding house proprietor offered casual conversation laced with small-town insight. In a place like this, dinner talk could be as revealing as a witness statement—and Lavallee knew it.

But it was the McLeod farm that spoke the loudest. In its decay, Lavallee saw a family legacy collapsing under years of conflict and silence. An empty drawer. A dragged line in the barn straw. And then—an unexpected visitor.

George McLeod.

Brother to the deceased, and caretaker of a farm steeped in tension and memory. George’s presence raised as many questions as it answered. Was he simply maintaining the property—or watching over something more?

In this chapter, the silence deepens—but so does Lavallee’s resolve.

In Harris Bay, nothing is ever just what it seems.

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Chapter 6

 

Interviewing the Suspects

 

That Afternoon – Day 2:

 

Detective Jean Lavallee arrived at the Sûreté detachment with deliberate steps, his thoughts sharp and focused. The clock was ticking—the Crown Prosecutor had made it clear that Gerald and Jerome McLeod would soon be released unless new evidence appeared. This might be his last chance to test their story and, more importantly, probe the dynamics between the brothers.

 

As Lavallee approached the holding area, he spotted Paul O’Grady leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his imposing frame exuding quiet confidence. The lawyer’s eyes held a glint of triumph, as though the game were already won.

 

“Mr. O’Grady,” Lavallee greeted, his tone cool but polite. “I’d like to proceed with interviews for both Gerald and Jerome—separately.”

 

O’Grady’s smirk faded. “Separately? I’d prefer you question them together. It’s less disruptive and prevents you from playing one against the other.”

 

Lavallee met O’Grady’s gaze steadily. “Separate interviews are standard, Mr. O’Grady. My aim isn’t to divide them but to understand their perspectives without interference. You’ll be present, of course.”

 

The silence between them was palpable, a subtle clash of wills. Finally, O’Grady sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Fine. But don’t push them too hard, Detective. They’ve already given their statements.”

 

Lavallee nodded once. “Understood. Let’s start with Gerald.”

 

Gerald McLeod:

 

When O’Grady informed Gerald about the plan to interview him separately, the eldest McLeod exploded, his voice low and menacing, reverberating off the room’s cold walls.

 

“No! You can’t let him do that. Jerome isn’t ready for this—he’ll crack under pressure!” Gerald surged forward, his fists slamming the table. “What kind of lawyer are you to let this happen?”

 

Breathing heavily, Gerald hesitated, then growled, “Fine. I’ll confess to it. Better me than Jerome.”

 

O’Grady didn’t flinch. His tone, calm but cutting, sliced through Gerald’s fury. “If Jerome cracks, that’s on him—not you. But if you want me to tell Lavallee you killed Ian, go ahead. Confess. But before I do anything, I need a reason, Gerald. What’s your motive? Why did you do it?”

 

The question hit Gerald like a cold slap. He faltered; his defiance momentarily drained. “I … hated him,” he muttered, the words barely audible.

 

O’Grady leaned forward, his eyes hard and unforgiving. “That’s not good enough. ‘Hated him?’ Everyone hates their father at some point. Hate doesn’t hold up in court. You were living off him, Gerald. He gave you a roof over your head. He gave you that damn Impala. So, tell me—why would you throw it all away?”

 

Gerald stared at the table in silence, his bravado crumbling under the weight of the lawyer’s relentless logic.

 

Gerald’s fists unclenched; his breathing heavy. O’Grady leaned in. “Focus on yourself. Leave Jerome to me. You’re not his shield. You’re not his saviour.”

 

Gerald hesitated, then sank back into his chair, shoulders slumping. “Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t let Lavallee twist him around.”

 

O’Grady’s voice softened slightly. “I won’t. Just remember, Lavallee might try to make you angry. You’re already there. Keep it together. One slip, and you will be regretting it for a long time.”

 

In the interrogation room, Gerald’s presence dominated the space. His broad shoulders filled the chair, and his steady gaze locked on Lavallee as the detective sat across from him. Despite the cuffs binding his hands to the table, Gerald exuded confidence, his posture a silent challenge.

 

“Thanks for talking with me, Gerald,” Lavallee began, his tone casual but deliberate. “How are you handling your father’s death?”

 

“What do you think?” Gerald replied, leaning back. “He was my dad. No one deserves to die like that.”

 

Lavallee studied him carefully. “No, they don’t. Must’ve been hard working under him all those years.”

 

Gerald’s expression didn’t change, but his jaw tightened imperceptibly. “We worked where we could. Dad didn’t need us hanging around the farm all the time. He liked doing things his way.”

 

Lavallee tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Did you resent that? The way he ran things. Seems like he kept a tight grip on everything—including you and Jerome.”

 

Gerald shrugged, his voice even. “That’s how he was. It worked for him.”

 

“Did it?” Lavallee leaned forward slightly, his tone soft but probing. “Your uncle George said Ian carried the farm on his back. Maybe he thought you weren’t pulling your weight.”

 

Gerald smirked, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “George is full of it. Me and Jerome worked when we were needed.”

 

Lavallee paused, letting the silence stretch before asking, “And your dad’s rifle? It’s missing. 

 

“Do you know where it is? Did you or Jerome ever use it recently?”

 

Gerald’s smirk faltered for a split second. “Nope. It was in Dad’s closet. As far as I know it’s still there.”

 

“Are you sure?” Lavallee’s voice dropped, his gaze piercing. “Because if it isn’t, Gerald, now’s the time to tell me.”

 

For a moment, Gerald’s confidence flickered, replaced by something darker. Then he leaned forward, his tone hardening. “You think we did this? You’re wasting your time. Go ask someone else.”

 

Lavallee’s lips tightened into a thin smile. “I intend to.”

 

Jerome McLeod:

 

Jerome entered the room hesitantly, his movements tentative. Unlike Gerald, he seemed to shrink under the harsh fluorescent lights, his slight frame and darting eyes betraying his discomfort.

 

Lavallee began gently. “Thank you for speaking with me, Jerome. How are you holding up?”

 

Jerome shifted in his seat, his fingers fidgeting with the table’s edge. “Okay, I guess.”

 

“Gerald said Ian was heading to Vancouver. That he seemed happy. Do you agree?”

 

Jerome nodded quickly, almost too quickly. “Yeah, he … he said that.”

 

Lavallee tilted his head. “Was your father a happy man, Jerome? Did he seem happy when he was alive?”

 

Jerome hesitated, his eyes flicking to O’Grady for reassurance. “Uh, sometimes. Not often. He wasn’t really the happy type.”

 

Lavallee leaned forward slightly. “And you, Jerome? Were you happy? Living under Ian’s roof?”

 

Jerome’s hands tightened on the table. “I didn’t think about it much,” he muttered.

 

“But you thought about leaving, didn’t you?” Lavallee pressed gently. “Both of you did.”

 

Jerome froze, his gaze dropping to the table. “We … we talked about it. Gerald more than me.”

 

“Gerald wanted freedom.” Lavallee’s tone softened. “And you wanted to stay. Is that why you feel guilty now?”

 

Jerome’s head shot up, his eyes wide. “I don’t feel guilty!” he blurted, his voice cracking.

 

The room fell silent. Lavallee’s calm, unyielding gaze lingered, and Jerome sank back into his chair, his breathing uneven.

 

Conclusion:

 

By the end of the interviews, Lavallee had uncovered more than words—he had seen Gerald’s simmering resentment, Jerome’s trembling uncertainty, and the unspoken loyalties between them. The brothers’ desire for freedom clashed with their fear of exposure, leaving their story riddled with cracks. Lavallee knew that guilt had many faces, and the McLeods wore theirs like a mask.

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