The Swimmer

by David Haynes

  “It seems a bit like bad taste to issue dividends after so many people just died in your mine.”

  May grimaced back at Joe. “Not if you’re the church or Polglaze.”

  “Well I’m sure neither Polglaze or Hooper would find it distasteful, judging by what we know now. For the others who weren’t involved, surely they wouldn’t be comfortable with it, not if they lived in the community.”

  “There weren’t any others, Joe.”

  “What?” Joe frowned and the pain around his eye flared angrily.

  “At least not by then.”

  Henrietta took the book from May. “Can I just show you something?” She turned to the back page and removed a small folded piece of paper.

  “Your great grandad would’ve had one of these too.” She handed the book back to May and the paper to Joe.

  Carefully, he unfolded the paper and looked inside. It was a certificate, handwritten with calligraphic writing containing five signatures. Joe read each one aloud.

  “G. Hooper, A. Prideaux, W. Newton, F. Polglaze and B. Smith of Smith Partnership, solicitors at law.” His jaw dropped as he raised his stare from the paper to Henrietta. “This says your grandfather was an equal shareholder with Polglaze, he owned a quarter of the mine.” He was astounded.

  “And you say Alec Prideaux had one the same?”

  Henrietta nodded. “They were in partnership with Polglaze. They called themselves adventurers.” She leaned over and tapped the bottom of the paper. “Look at the date.”

  “March 8th 1919. Is that significant?”

  “It is when you consider the mine was on the verge of being wound up; Newton and Prideaux would’ve got their share for a rock bottom bargain price. I assume their money was to prop the mine up for a while longer. It was probably something men like them would never normally be able to do. Not unless they looked after their money or made it elsewhere.”

  “Like South Africa.” His remark was statement of fact, not a question.

  “Exactly. It wasn’t uncommon for men of that generation go where the mining paid best; some were made very wealthy.”

  “Even so,” Joe continued, “Whatever money they had wouldn’t keep the mine open for very long.”

  May interrupted. “You’re right, but what if that money wasn’t supposed to keep it open for much longer? What if it was only supposed to keep it open for just a little longer?”

  “What’re you thinking?”

  “What if Newton and Prideaux were supposed to die in the mine on that day? What if the famous Polglaze family pride wouldn’t allow him to admit failure and close the mine? Their deaths would mean a very substantial insurance policy was due and insurance is better than bankruptcy.” She looked at Henrietta.

  “Bingo!” She shouted again.

  “It’s all very well having these theories, but it doesn’t mean much without evidence?”

  “Well, what about the diary? It says Polglaze allowed those men to die. Surely this adds fuel to the fire; wouldn’t the police be interested?”

  “In what? It’s a diary written nearly a hundred years ago by a dead man about a dead man. Both, as far as we’re aware, died of natural causes. The police wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole.”

  Henrietta coughed loudly. “I agree, but there’s one dead man who didn’t die from natural causes. The police would be very interested in that.”

  Joe nodded. “You’re right, but we still haven’t got any evidence.”

  May interrupted his contemplation. “So what so we do about it? You know how the police work, Joe. What would make them interested?”

  He sighed. “Well once George and the books are presented as a package, they would have to have a look at the circumstances again. Examine the evidence, and at the very least, they would have to speak to Polglaze. Who knows from there? But I get the feeling, once Polglaze comes under suspicion for anything, he’ll lose what he values the most.”

  “His good family name.” Henrietta whispered.

  “Bingo!” May shouted.

  Joe clutched both books to his lap. The sound of the rain on the roof of the battered Fiat lulled his mind into a relaxed daze. Although he couldn’t see the waving figure of Henrietta in her kitchen window, he waved listlessly as May climbed into the car.

  “You look like shit, Joe. I should’ve taken you to the hospital.” She put the keys into the ignition and started the car. “In fact I still think it’s a good idea.”

  Joe shut his eyes. “I think sleep would be the best idea right now.”

  May shook her head and pulled away. They hadn’t decided what to do with the information in the books yet but they had decided they would come back and discuss it tomorrow.

  The lane leading back to St Just was unlit and in the absence of any other cars May drove with her main beam on all the way. She didn’t particularly like driving in the dark, let alone the persistent rain but the powerful lights made her feel an awful lot better. As powerful as the lights were, they didn’t illuminate the stationary vehicle parked several metres back from the junction of the side road. Particularly when the vehicle was Panther Black with its lights and engine turned off.

  David watched the little Fiat drive past the junction. He didn’t want to risk starting the engine yet, but he was anxious to get moving. They’d been in that house for hours; talking to god knows who about god knows what but he intended to find out. For two pennies he would’ve pulled out in front of the car and made her stop. There was something about the writer’s eyes that made him feel uncomfortable, something which told him he was the sort of bloke who’d seen a fight or two. Not that he didn’t think he could snap him in two, after all he was so much bigger and stronger, it would probably be a walkover. Nevertheless, he didn’t want to risk him landing a lucky punch and marking him, not when he was meeting the organisation tomorrow. He needed it to run smoothly and without hitch and a black eye was apt to ruin his image.

  He pushed the engine start button and the car quietly hummed into life. He drove slowly up to the isolated cottage and stopped. The downstairs lights were still on but he didn’t mind whether they were or not; he wanted some answers and he intended to get them. He climbed out of the car and strode confidently to the rear of the cottage. The rain lashed his face and soaked his clothes but he didn’t notice until he was forced to wipe the water away from his eyes.

  “Damn bloody rain.” He hissed and banged loudly on the wooden door.

  “What did you forget? Hold on, I’m on my way.” He heard a weak female voice from inside. That was good, that was easy.

  A number of bolts slid back before the door opened. “What did you forget th…?”

  David placed his size twelve shoe in the gap between the door and frame. “May I come in and talk to you, Mrs…?

  “You may not come in, Mr Polglaze, now move your foot or I’ll call the police.”

  David frowned. It wasn’t uncommon for local people to recognise and stop him for a chat; he was widely recognised but he didn’t recognise this woman. “Sorry, I don’t think I know you.”

  “Probably not, but I recognise you, so go away before I break your foot.”

  David was taken aback by the way the old lady had acted and moved his foot an inch before catching himself. “I think I’ll come in and have a little chat in any case.” He placed his hand on the door and shoved it backwards against the tiny frame of the old lady. Henrietta was unable to steady herself in preparation for the thrust and immediately stumbled backwards away from the door, leaving it free for David to enter.

  He pushed the door behind him. “Now that’s not what I’d call a proper Cornish welcome. I only want to talk to you.”

  Henrietta walked backwards into the small lounge. “You can’t just come storming in here like this.” David could see there was plenty of fight in her, at the moment.

  “Well I have I’m afraid, and you’ll talk to me now whether you like it or not, because I’m not leaving until I’m a happy man. Now,
I’ve had a god awful day today, so that might take a fair bit of time.” He followed her but maintained the distance.

  “I suggest you take a seat and tell me what those two were doing here just now, Mrs?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t know my name, Mr Polglaze. You seem to know everyone’s business around here, or am I too insignificant to waste your time on?”

  David smiled. “You were insignificant, but you just became very interesting.”

  David felt happy there was no one else in the house. There was no sign of a husband, son or anyone else likely to cause him problems and the old lady hadn’t called for help when he pushed the door. She continued to edge away from him until the backs of her knees bumped into the coffee table. The cups, saucers and teapot wobbled and clinked together nervously under the impact. He watched as she felt behind her back, to steady the crockery. “I’m warning you.” She maintained a defiant expression.

  David looked about the room quickly. There was no sign of a phone and he doubted whether there had ever been one. “You’re warning me about what?” He stopped two feet away from her.

  “I know what your grandad did and I know what you did.” David detected the first signs of her confidence breaking.

  He shrugged. “Well, what you think you know, and what actually happened are two different things.”

  “I know your great grandad was a bloody coward and a liar. That’s the truth and you know it.”

  A rage which had been building since early that morning filled David’s head like a swarm of angry wasps. He lunged forward with his hands outstretched and took the old lady’s neck in his enormous fingers. “What the fuck do you know you insignificant bitch.” He felt the swallow mechanism in her throat beneath his thumbs as her neck tilted backwards. “I have the proof he killed them, all of them.” She hissed the words.

  David pushed his fingers harder, forcing more pressure onto her windpipe. “Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.” He could feel the life draining from her body as he supported her body by her neck. Her eyebrows rose each time she tried to take a breath; the movement was accompanied by a thin rasping sound.

  Her body was surprisingly light. From first impressions she seemed to be heftier than her weight suggested and when her legs stopped supporting her he found it quite easy to hold her. He moved his head closer and started into the whites of her eyes. “This was your fault.” He snarled and released his grip. She dropped to the floor, hitting the little table and knocking the prized tea set on top of her as she crumpled onto the carpet.

  He stared at her momentarily then bent down and felt her neck. He wasn’t surprised to find the absence of a pulse and he stood up immediately before looking around the room. “Now where’s this proof you think you have?” He carefully took his brown leather driving gloves from his coat pocket and wriggled his fingers into them. He knew it was likely to be a considerable length of time before anyone found the old lady, but it didn’t make sense not to be careful.

  For the next hour David searched the little cottage for anything which might be connected to Levant, or to his family. Frustratingly, there was nothing except for an old photograph on the wall in the tiny living room; it was very curious. It was the same photograph of his great grandad and the dead miner on the tallboy at home. He lifted it off the wall and stared at the faces; they were still as dour and lifeless as ever, and he threw it on the floor. It landed beside the old lady’s head and smashed on the now broken teapot, sending shards of glass into her hair. The frame had buckled dislodging the photo from its setting, leaving the discoloured rear of the photo facing him.

  Even though the back of the photograph was discoloured and spotted with age, he could clearly see the ghostly grey writing. He knelt carefully and brushed away the shards of glass; the writing was faint but written in beautiful handwriting. ‘Frederick Polglaze and Walter Newton – Levant October 1st 1919.’

  He looked from the photograph to the old lady then returned to the photograph again. It was definitely the same man standing with his great grandad. Why would she have a photo of his relative on her wall? He shook his head and stuffed the photograph into his pocket.

  He hadn’t paid much attention to the photographs when he’d first come in but now as he quickly scanned them, he realised one thing. Walter Newton appeared on too many for it to be a coincidental duplication of the photograph on his tall boy. He looked back down at the crumpled, lifeless body beneath him. “So, I was mistaken, one last descendant was still alive.” He walked towards the door. “Good job I found out now or you could’ve been very rich on my hard work.”

  The indicators flashed twice as he approached his car. A smile had spread across his face. Although the loose ends were still floating around, he felt in a surprisingly good mood. If they hadn’t led him there tonight, he could’ve been paying out some of his hard earned money once Levant was up and running again. He’d just saved himself a small fortune. He could tie the other loose ends up early tomorrow morning, being sure to get his timing just right. “Divide and conquer, David, that’s how to do it.” He drove slowly away, whistling loudly.

  The adrenaline which had been keeping Joe moving had finally run out. He’d tried to sit on his sofa but May knew once he sat down he was liable to fall asleep. However used to sleeping on the sofa he was, sleeping on there tonight with his body in such a bad way would be foolish. The fact that he barely resisted when she guided him towards the stairs was testament to his exhaustion.

  Joe dropped the two books noisily next to the bed and then insisted on undressing himself before he collapsed under the crisp, white duvet; almost immediately he started breathing heavily. May undressed quietly in the darkness, the only sounds were the steady raindrops landing on the skylights above her. She slipped into bed beside him, but the adrenaline which was still coursing through her body left her wide awake. She replayed the events slowly in her head, hoping she would fall asleep before her mind started on the contents of the diary and the ledger.

  She lay on her back and stared at the dark window above her. There were no stars tonight; they were all hidden above the dark blanket of cloud. She sighed loudly and kicked her feet free from the duvet. Both the diary and the ledger supported the theory that Frederick Polglaze had allowed both mining captains to die. Not just allowed, but had actively contributed to their deaths. He’d brought the silence of the only witness to the event, Reverend G. Hooper, and the only reason was family pride and money. In its most simple form it all made sense and fit David’s, and no doubt, the entire Polglaze family profile. Whether or not the police would be interested was another matter of course, that would depend on how they saw George Hooper’s accidental drowning. In any case it would certainly make for a very interesting newspaper story, particularly with the imminent re- opening of the mine.

  That raised more questions. Why on earth would David want to re-open and invest in a mine which was barely making money when prices for tin were sky high? It didn’t make sense, not unless there was serious money to be made and she was pretty sure there wasn’t much money in tin mining. Her eyes widened, what if Henrietta’s share certificate in the business was still a valid document? She might be entitled to whatever profits David made. That would also mean, Alec Prideaux’s descendants could claim entitlement; namely Joe.

  She tried to think back to the Levant file David had left her. She hadn’t been too eager to read it, but she was sure there was a paragraph about there being no living descendants of the dead miners. May wondered if that paragraph related to descendants of two specific dead miners; she’d need to take another look at the file tomorrow. With all this new information things might start to take on a different feel.

  As the rain continued to beat steadily on the roof window and the wind whistled gently through the building, May drifted into a sleep. Her dreams were filled with screeching machinery and dead men’s faces being ground deeper and deeper into the muddy earth.

  22

  May woke before
the first signs of feeble sunlight could penetrate the darkness. She lay motionless staring at the roof window again; it was almost as if she’d blinked and not actually been asleep. Joe was lying on his side and his eye looked painful, but in the dim light she couldn’t see how bad it was. His mouth was slightly ajar and his breathing steady and deep; she knew he was sound asleep. She checked her watch; it was just after seven.

  She slipped out from under the duvet carefully and pulled on the same clothes she’d worn the previous night. She had to get home, have a shower and get changed as quickly as possible; she desperately needed to go through the Levant file again.

  Joe had dropped the books beside the bed but they would be useful when she went through David’s file again. She knelt down and gently kissed Joe’s exposed neck. He muttered something unrecognisable and resumed his steady, deep breathing. Gathering up the books, she walked downstairs. The cottage was cold; whatever fire had been burning when they got back in last night had long since gone out. Without switching on all the lights and waking him she wouldn’t be able to build a new one. Besides, in her experience, building fires was definitely a man thing.