Chapter 19: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 19

Secrets, greed, and buried ambition begin to surface—one witness at a time.

Detective Lavallee’s investigation sharpens as new voices begin to speak: a nervous teenage nephew, a known biker informant, and a quiet constable with a nose for shadowy movements. In this chapter, Luke Pilon’s innocent discovery of gold on the McLeod farm may be the clue that explains everything—if Lavallee can separate truth from fear and silence.

Meanwhile, George McLeod’s hidden dealings with real estate agents and geological firms suggest that the “fool’s gold” story may have been anything but. Lavallee’s gut tells him the McLeod farm was more than a family property—it was a ticking bomb of financial opportunity and explosive resentment.

As Chapter 19 unfolds, the motive behind Ian McLeod’s murder takes shape—and it’s more layered than anyone imagined.

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Chapter 19

 

Home for a Couple of Nights

 

Evening of Day 14:

 

Jean Lavallee settled into his cozy living room, savouring the rare comfort of being home. The crackling fireplace filled the space with warmth, its flickering glow casting dancing shadows on the walls. His wife, Lisa, sat in her usual chair, knitting a scarf while their two daughters, sprawled out on the chesterfield, laughed at an episode of Cheers. The sound of their laughter was a balm to Jean’s weary soul, a temporary reprieve from the tangled mess of the McLeod investigation.

 

This was his sanctuary, the place that anchored him when the weight of his work became unbearable. Yet even here, the case lingered at the edges of his thoughts, refusing to let him rest.

 

What he couldn’t shake, though, wasn’t just the McLeod murder. Doris McLeod’s connection to Patsy had resurfaced with a force he hadn’t anticipated. The memories of his sister, her tragic and unresolved death, hung over him like a shadow, pressing at the edges of his consciousness. Doris had been there, part of it all, and though she’d been cleared of any wrongdoing, her evasiveness back then had always left him suspicious.

 

He glanced at Lisa, her calm presence a balm against the storm inside him. He knew he should tell her—about Doris, about the memories and questions clawing their way back into his mind—but he didn’t. Not tonight.

 

Lisa was his anchor, the person who had carried him through grief and pain before. But right now, as he watched her smile at their daughters, he couldn’t bring himself to burden her with these thoughts. This was his refuge, his chance to breathe, and he couldn’t risk letting the darkness of the past invade this safe space.

 

Lisa, ever perceptive, glanced up from her knitting. “Long day?”

 

“You could say that” Jean replied, sinking into his armchair.

 

“Will you be home again tomorrow night?” she asked, her tone casual, but her eyes searching.

 

Jean nodded; the promise steady in his voice. “I will. No matter what.”

 

Lisa smiled softly and returned to her knitting. Jean didn’t need to elaborate, and Lisa didn’t press. It was a quiet understanding they had cultivated over the years—she gave him space, and he gave her honesty, when he could.

 

As the evening stretched on, Jean allowed himself to be present, savouring the ordinary rhythm of family life. It was these moments of normalcy that kept him grounded, giving him the strength to face the chaos waiting beyond the threshold.

 

Inside the Hull Detention Centre

Day 15:

 

The sterile corridors of the Hull Detention Centre buzzed faintly under the hum of fluorescent lights. Detective Lavallee followed a guard to the secure interview room, his footsteps echoing off the tiled floors. Inside, Gerald McLeod sat at the table, his broad shoulders tense, his expression a mixture of anger and defiance.

 

Michael Swinwood, Gerald’s lawyer, sat beside him, exuding a calm confidence that contrasted sharply with his client’s barely contained frustration. Lavallee wasted no time.

 

“Gerald,” he began, his tone sharp but even. “Let’s skip the pleasantries. You’re being set up—by your own family.”

 

Gerald’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent.

 

Lavallee leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Your mother? She’s already thrown you under the bus. George? He’s hiding something, and you know it. If you don’t start talking, this place will seem like paradise compared to where you’re headed. You’ve heard of Prince Albert, haven’t you?”

 

The mention of the infamous federal penitentiary broke through Gerald’s composure. His fists clenched, and his eyes burned with barely suppressed fury.

 

“Detective,” Swinwood interjected smoothly, “let’s keep this professional.”

 

But Lavallee didn’t flinch, his gaze never leaving Gerald’s. “Think about it, Gerald. Your family’s thrown you to the wolves. Why protect them when they’re not protecting you?”

 

Gerald’s lips curled into a bitter smile. “Fine,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You want the truth? I’m not going to jail for something I didn’t do.”

 

“Then tell me what happened,” Lavallee pressed.

 

Gerald hesitated, glancing at Swinwood before exhaling sharply. “The day before Dad was killed, we were all in the front room—me, Jerome, George, and Dad. Dad started talking about selling the farm. Out of nowhere, George blurts out something about gold on the property. We didn’t know anything about it, but you could tell George regretted saying it.”

 

He paused, his hands fidgeting. “Dad and George started yelling at each other. George called him a fool; said he’d ruin everything. Dad fired back, accusing George of scheming behind his back. Then Dad turned on us, calling me and Jerome greedy bastards. Said we were in on it with George.”

 

Lavallee’s brow furrowed. “And what did you do?”

 

“Nothing,” Gerald replied. “Dad stormed out to the barn, and George left in a huff. Jerome and I stayed inside, drank a couple of beers, and watched TV. Later, we drove to Brighton for a deal I had set up. We didn’t get back until morning.”

 

“Do you think Peter could’ve done it?”

 

Gerald hesitated again, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Peter? I don’t know. He’s quiet, but he listens to George too much. If George told him to do something, he’d do it without question.”

 

Lavallee studied Gerald closely, weighing his words. “Gerald, this is your chance. If you know anything—anything—it’s time to speak up.”

 

Gerald’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Uncle George knows more about Dad’s death than he’s letting on. He’s been hiding things for years. Gold, deeds, God knows what else. And Mom? She’s no saint either. But me? I’m done. I’m not taking the fall for any of them.”

 

“We’ll pick this up tomorrow morning with the Crown Prosecutor present,” said Lavallee.

 

Back at Home:

 

Lavallee returned home that evening, as promised. The smell of roast chicken filled the air, and his daughters’ laughter echoed from the living room, where another sitcom played. Lisa greeted him at the door, her smile warm and welcoming.

 

“Rough day?” she asked, handing him a glass of wine.

 

He nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “But I’m glad to be home.”

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