Chapter 20: Beneath the Surface

Welcome to Chapter 20

Even home can’t quiet the voices of the past.

Detective Jean Lavallee briefly returns home—but even the warmth of family, a glowing fire, and his daughters’ laughter can’t silence the echoes of Patsy’s death or the unraveling lies surrounding Ian McLeod’s murder. As Gerald McLeod begins to crack under pressure, a stunning revelation emerges: the family may have been hiding gold on the property… and George may know far more than he lets on.

In this chapter, Lavallee pushes past silence and suspicion—and finally hears the first honest account of what really happened on the farm. But as one McLeod brother speaks up, the detective knows time is running out to expose the rest.

Who’s manipulating the truth, and who’s about to be buried by it?

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Chapter 20

 

Coming Clean

 

Day 16:

 

The tension in the Hull Detention Centre was palpable as Gerald McLeod’s testimony resumed. Crown Prosecutor Sheila Summers, her sharp eyes focused on the defendant, was ready to listen. Gerald’s earlier confession had unraveled threads of a tangled web, but Summers wanted to ensure this session left no room for ambiguity.

 

Gerald sat across from Lavallee and Summers, his usually brash demeanour subdued. His lawyer, Michael Swinwood, sat beside him, his posture calm but watchful.

 

“Let’s continue where we left off, Gerald,” Lavallee began, his tone steady. “You said you returned to the farm the morning after your father was killed. Walk me through what happened.”

 

Gerald exhaled heavily, his fingers tapping against the table. “Jerome and I got back around ten. When we walked in, Mom, Uncle George, and Peter were in the front room. They were just … sitting there. Quiet. Too quiet.”

 

“What did they say?” Summers interjected.

 

Gerald hesitated. “Uncle George told me to sit down, but I didn’t. I was still riding high from a deal I’d closed the night before. I asked what was going on, and then Mom looked at me and said, ‘Your father’s dead.’”

 

His voice wavered slightly. “At first, I thought it was some kind of sick joke. But then she said, ‘He’s been shot.’”

 

“Shot by whom?” Lavallee pressed, his gaze unwavering.

 

“That’s what I asked,” Gerald replied, his voice hardening. “But Mom brushed it off. She said, ‘Who did it doesn’t matter. What matters is that we all stick to the same story.’”

 

Summers leaned forward. “What story?”

 

Gerald’s lip curled in frustration. “That Dad had gone to Vancouver to chase some woman. That he called us from northern Ontario, happy as could be, saying he loved us.”

 

“And you went along with this?” Lavallee asked.

 

“I didn’t have a choice,” Gerald snapped. “They told me if I didn’t, we’d all go down for it. Mom said they’d already taken care of the body, buried it in a snowbank behind the barn. The plan was to move it once the snow melted. But they never did.”

 

Lavallee exchanged a quick glance with Summers. Gerald’s account aligned disturbingly well with the evidence found at the farm.

 

“What about the rifle?” Summers asked, her voice cutting through the room. “The one found in your closet?”

 

Gerald’s eyes flashed with anger. “That wasn’t mine. Uncle George took Dad’s rifle after he was killed. He hid it at his place. And then someone—probably him—planted it in my room to frame me.”

 

His fists clenched as he leaned forward. “My own family set me up. My mom was here just last week, trying to pin it all on me. I’m done protecting them.”

 

Summers nodded slowly, her pen gliding across her notepad. “And Peter? What was his involvement?”

 

Gerald hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Peter … he listens to George. Always has. I don’t know how much he knows, but if George told him to help, he would’ve done it. No questions asked.”

 

Lavallee sat back, studying Gerald closely. “Why come clean now?”

 

Gerald’s voice dropped, the anger giving way to weariness. “Because I’m not going to prison for something I didn’t do. If they want someone to take the fall, it’s not going to be me.”

 

After the Testimony:

 

Gerald signed his statement, his hand trembling slightly as he set the pen down. Swinwood turned to Summers and Lavallee, his tone brisk. “This is where our representation ends for Jerome. I’ll no longer represent him—his interests have diverged too significantly from Gerald’s. He’ll need separate counsel moving forward.”

 

Summers nodded. “Understood. I’ll arrange for a public defender.”

 

Gerald was escorted back to his cell. His face was unreadable, but Lavallee could sense the weight of his decision pressing down on him. He had turned on his family, and though it might save him from prison, the cost was yet to be seen.

 

Later That Night:

 

Lavallee returned home late, slipping quietly into the house so as not to wake his family. Lisa stirred as he slid into bed beside her, her warmth a welcome contrast to the cold, sterile detention centre.

 

“You’re home,” she murmured sleepily, turning toward him.

 

“I told you I would be,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from her face.

 

As Lisa drifted back to sleep, Lavallee lay awake, his mind racing. Gerald’s confession had brought them closer to the truth, but the McLeod family’s secrets ran deep. And somewhere in those tangled threads of lies and betrayal, Lavallee knew the shadow of his sister Patsy still lingered, waiting to be uncovered.

 

For now, though, he allowed himself to be still, grateful for the brief respite of home. Tomorrow, Jerome would have his turn, and the truth would come one step closer to the surface.

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