Chapter 15: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 15

In Chapter 14, everything started to connect—but not all of it comfortably.

With the brothers in custody, Constable Mannion brought more than initiative—he brought results. Phone records revealed ties between Ian McLeod and a real estate agent, and more troublingly, a known biker gang associate flagged in Hull. The deeper Detective Lavallee digs, the more it looks like Ian was preparing to sell the farm—and walking a dangerous line between business and blackmail.

But this isn’t just about Ian anymore.

A new name surfaces: Luke Pilon. A cousin to Peter McLeod, and the son of Réjean Pilon—Doris McLeod’s brother. And with it comes a haunting echo from Lavallee’s past: the unsolved murder of his sister, Patsy. The deeper the roots of the McLeod family grow, the more they begin to tangle with Lavallee’s own.

In Chapter 15, expect more threads to converge, more pasts to resurface—and more clarity about the forces that were quietly closing in on Ian McLeod long before he died.

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Chapter 15

 

Planting Evidence

 

Day 5:

 

The March evening clung to winter’s last gasp, its chill biting at the edges of the thaw. Wet snow sloshed underfoot, muffling the sound of boots as they trudged toward the shed. The figure moved with purpose, the hood of the overcoat pulled low, obscuring its owner’s face.

 

The air smelled damp and earthy—a mix of snowmelt and thawing soil. Despite the stillness of the night, the figure’s movements were cautious, eyes scanning the shadows as though anticipating an unwelcome visitor.

 

The Shed:

 

The shed door creaked open, revealing an unexpectedly orderly interior. Tools hung neatly on pegboards along the walls, each in its designated place, their polished surfaces catching the dim light. Shelves lined one side, stocked with labeled jars of nails, screws, and bolts. The floor was swept clean, and at the back of the shed, a long workbench stood, meticulously organized with small trays for various fittings. Beneath a carefully draped tarp, a rifle lay concealed, its placement deliberate and precise.

 

The figure lifted the tarp, revealing the weapon, and inspected it briefly. It was a .22 caliber rifle, its barrel and stock worn but functional. Satisfied, the mysterious individual wrapped the weapon in a cloth and exited the shed.

 

The car idling nearby was a blue 1985 Taurus, its engine humming softly in the quiet. The figure climbed in, placing the rifle gently on the passenger seat, and drove toward the McLeod farmstead.

 

The Farmhouse:

 

The farmhouse stood dark and silent; its outline barely discernible against the night sky. The figure parked the car a short distance away, leaving it obscured beside the darkness of the dilapidated barn. The shadow moved quickly toward the house; the crunch of snow underfoot muted by the dampness in the air.

 

Inside, the figure worked with precision, heading straight to Gerald McLeod’s bedroom. The faint glow of a flashlight illuminated the room’s modest furnishings: a single bed, a wooden chair, and a closet filled with clothes that smelled faintly of old tobacco.

 

The figure reached into the closet, pushing aside shirts and jackets until a loose board was found in the back. It pried open easily, revealing a narrow hollow. The rifle slid inside, hidden from sight.

 

The task complete, the figure replaced the board, straightened the clothes, and exited the house as quietly as it had entered. Minutes later, the car disappeared into the night.

 

The Anonymous Tip:

 

At a payphone on the edge of Brighton, the figure dialled a number. The call was brief, the voice low and steady.

 

“There’s a rifle in Gerald McLeod’s bedroom closet,” it said. “Behind a loose board. It’s the gun used to kill Ian McLeod.”

 

The line clicked as the call ended. The figure returned to the car, leaving the phone booth swinging slightly in the breeze.

 

The Discovery

Day 6, Early Morning:

 

The call came through to the Harris Bay detachment just after midnight. Sergeant Michael Gilbert, roused from his sleep, listened carefully before calling Detective Jean Lavallee.

 

“Lavallee, we’ve got an anonymous tip. Says there’s a rifle hidden in Gerald McLeod’s closet—claims it’s the murder weapon.”

 

Lavallee’s voice was sharp despite the late hour. “Have the team ready in thirty minutes. We’re going to the farm.”

 

The police convoy arrived at the McLeod farm under cover of darkness. Lavallee and Gilbert led the search, following the anonymous tip’s precise instructions.

 

Inside Gerald’s bedroom, it didn’t take long to find the loose board in the closet. A constable retrieved the rifle, its barrel glinting under the flashlight’s beam.

 

“Too clean,” Lavallee muttered, his instincts prickling. “This was staged.”

 

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t matter if it was. If this matches the bullets from Ian’s skull, we’ve got our murder weapon.”

 

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Lavallee cautioned. “Send it to ballistics. And let’s keep this quiet for now.”

 

The Family Splinters:

 

Later that morning, Gerald and Jerome McLeod were formally arraigned in court. The discovery of the rifle, though not yet confirmed as the murder weapon, gave Crown Prosecutor Sheila Summers the leverage she needed to confidently pursue first-degree murder charges.

 

The judge denied bail, citing the severity of the crime and the risk of flight. Gerald and Jerome were remanded to custody, their trial set for the following year.

 

After the hearing, O’Grady convened a meeting with the family to discuss the next steps. Tensions simmered as George and Doris McLeod joined the brothers in a cold, windowless room at the courthouse.

 

“We’re looking at a serious uphill battle,” O’Grady began. “The rifle puts Gerald directly in the crosshairs. We’ll need expert testimony, character witnesses, and a forensic specialist. That means money.”

 

Doris crossed her arms, her expression icy. “How much are we talking about?”

 

“At least $50,000, if not more,” O’Grady replied.

 

Doris shook her head firmly. “We don’t have that kind of money. I’m not risking my savings or the farm on this.”

 

George nodded in agreement. “Legal Aid will provide a public defender. They’ll have to make do with that.”

 

Gerald glared at them; his face taut with anger. “You’re just going to abandon us? After everything?”

 

Doris’s tone was sharp. “After everything? Gerald, you’ve been nothing but trouble since the day you were born. I’m not sacrificing my future for a son who’s spent his life ruining his own.”

 

Jerome, sitting silently until now, looked between them, his expression crumbling. “You’re really giving up on us?” he whispered.

 

“This is reality,” George said, his voice cold. “You made your choices. Now you live with them.”

 

The room fell silent, the weight of betrayal thick in the air.

 

Conclusion:

 

As Lavallee reviewed the case notes that evening, the discovery of the rifle weighed heavily on his mind. Something about its sudden appearance didn’t sit right.

 

“Who’s pulling the strings here?” he wondered aloud.

 

The McLeod family was crumbling under the pressure, but Lavallee suspected that the truth—was still hidden, waiting to be uncovered.

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