Chapter 14: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 14

In Chapter 13, the McLeod family didn’t crumble under pressure—they recalibrated.

As Gerald and Jerome sat in jail, George McLeod paid a quiet visit to Doris and Peter. But this wasn’t a reunion fueled by grief. It was a strategy session, cloaked in leftover roast beef and simmering self-interest.

Behind closed doors, a plan took shape: shift the narrative, isolate the blame, and sacrifice Gerald to protect the rest. It was cold, calculated—and disturbingly convincing. Doris distanced herself. Peter nodded along. And George? He pulled the strings with the calm precision of someone who’s been here before.

But outside, Constable Murray Mannion watched. Unnoticed. Unblinking. From his car, he saw more than shadows—he sensed intent. And he’s beginning to see that the murder of Ian McLeod may have been only part of the story.

In Chapter 14, as family lines blur and loyalty is weaponized, the real danger may not be what’s confessed—but what’s kept quiet.

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Chapter 14

 

Phone Records

 

Day 5 – Late Afternoon:

 

Constable Murray Mannion stood as Detective Jean Lavallee entered the Sûreté Detachment. Mannion’s face lit with excitement, a stark contrast to Lavallee’s wearied expression after a long day of fruitless leads.

 

“I’ve got something from the phone records—and from tailing George McLeod yesterday,” Mannion said eagerly, motioning Lavallee into a side meeting room.

 

Lavallee sat, his curiosity piqued. “All right, Murray. What did you find?”

 

Mannion’s Leads:

 

Mannion opened his notebook, his tone brisk. “First, the tail. George drove to Doris McLeod’s apartment in Brighton. He stayed until midnight before heading straight home. No other stops, but he was careful—kept checking his rearview mirror.”

 

“Interesting,” Lavallee murmured, his brow furrowing. “And the phone records?”

 

Mannion leaned forward. “Ian McLeod made multiple calls in the two weeks leading up to February 6th. Most frequent were to Elmer Corriveau, a real estate agent in Brighton. Corriveau owns Corriveau Real Estate.”

 

Lavallee straightened. “Real estate? That’s a new angle. Have you spoken to Corriveau?”

 

“He’s expecting me tomorrow morning,” Mannion replied. “But there’s more. Ian also made repeated calls to a Real Cormier in Hull.”

 

Lavallee’s eyes narrowed. “Cormier … Hull. What do we know about him?”

 

Mannion hesitated. “Cormier’s flagged by Hull police. He’s a small-time marijuana supplier and an informant tied to a biker gang called the Pistols. Probably why he’s avoided arrest.”

 

Lavallee exhaled slowly, his mind connecting the dots. “A biker tied to drugs showing up in Ian McLeod’s phone records. That’s no coincidence. Arrange a meeting with Hull’s narcotics division. I’ll head there tomorrow.”

 

Mannion jotted a note. “Got it.”

 

A Fruitless Day for Lavallee:

 

Lavallee rubbed his temples, glancing at his own notebook. “You’ve had a better day than I have. I spent hours chasing down leads on the rifle—talking to shopkeepers, showing photos of Ian, Gerald, and Jerome. Nothing definitive. Every shopkeeper says the same thing: everyone around here owns a .22.”

 

“But?” Mannion prompted.

 

“One shopkeeper mentioned a cousin of Doris McLeod—a Luke Pilon—who used to be close with Peter McLeod. Same age, inseparable as kids. That might be worth following up on.”

 

Mannion’s eyebrow arched. “Pilon? As in Doris McLeod’s maiden name?”

 

“That’s right,” Lavallee confirmed. “Could be nothing—or everything. I’ll dig into it.”

 

“And the biker?”

 

“Locals claim a man with gang patches visits Harris Bay monthly, mostly on weekends. They’re certain he’s dealing drugs. My guess is it’s Real Cormier.”

 

Mannion nodded. “Feels like we’re circling something big.”

 

“One last thing,” Lavallee added. “A restaurant owner in town mentioned Gerald driving Ian’s car a day or two after Ian’s death. He brought some young guys, ordered an expensive meal, and paid for everyone. Gerald never has money—but that day, he did.”

 

Mannion’s pen froze mid-sentence. “Where did he get the cash?”

 

“Good question,” Lavallee replied. “One we’ll be asking him soon. For now, keep coordinating those meetings. Let’s regroup tomorrow.”

 

Dinner with Mrs. O’Hara

Day 5 – Evening:

 

Lavallee arrived at Mrs. Beatrice O’Hara’s boarding house later than usual, the fatigue of the day clear in his eyes. She greeted him warmly, ushering him into her cozy kitchen.

 

“You look like you’ve had a long one,” she said, setting a plate of roast chicken, potatoes, and carrots before him.

 

“You’re too kind,” Lavallee replied, digging in gratefully.

 

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Mrs. O’Hara countered, her knowing smile softening her words. “Busy day?”

 

“Busy, yes. Productive? We’ll see,” Lavallee said, leaning back with a cup of coffee after finishing his meal.

 

“Let me guess,” she teased. “You’ve been chasing rumours and talking to every shopkeeper and their cousin.”

 

Lavallee chuckled. “Something like that. Speaking of cousins, do you know a young man named Luke Pilon? He’s connected to the McLeods.”

 

Mrs. O’Hara straightened; her expression thoughtful. “Doris McLeod was a Pilon before she married Ian. She has a brother, Réjean Pilon, who lives in Hull. Luke must be his son. I’ve seen him around—quiet boy, very polite. He and Peter used to be thick as thieves.”

 

Lavallee’s stomach tightened. Doris Pilon. The name stirred painful memories tied to the unresolved circumstances of his sister Patsy’s death. For a moment, his composure wavered, but he quickly masked it.

 

“Any idea if Réjean’s family still visits Harris Bay?” he asked, his voice steady.

 

“Not often,” Mrs. O’Hara replied. “Doris kept closer ties with her family than Réjean did.”

 

Sensing her curiosity sharpening, Lavallee shifted the conversation. “You’ve been a great help, as always.”

 

“Well,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “I don’t like seeing good people come to harm.”

 

After dessert—a generous slice of raisin pie—Lavallee excused himself for an evening walk.

 

A Chilling Revelation:

 

Stepping into the crisp night air, Lavallee’s mind churned with fresh questions. The connection to Doris Pilon had stirred something personal, and the tangled threads of Ian McLeod’s case seemed to intertwine with the unresolved mystery of Patsy’s death.

 

“How deep does this go?” he murmured, his breath visible in the chilly air.

 

The quiet streets of Harris Bay were deceptively peaceful, masking the secrets Lavallee was determined to uncover. Each revelation brought him closer to the truth—but also closer to the shadows of his own past.

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