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FIFTY-NINE
‘Okay, genius, what now?’ Stacey asked as they took a table to the left of the bar. She had taken a good look around the pub as soon as she’d entered. She’d breathed a sigh of relief and then chastised herself that Terence Birch couldn’t possibly have known she was going to be visiting a pub she’d never frequented before, with a colleague that she very rarely drank with. She realised she was giving him far too much power in her head.
‘Err…I hadn’t really thought that far,’ Penn admitted, taking a sip of his drink.
‘You thought we were just gonna rock up, accuse him of fixing the football match, that he’d admit it and we’d throw him out of the house.’
‘Something like that,’ he said, watching Peter Matheson order his second round of drinks at the bar.
Not a great plan, Stacey thought, now grateful that they’d been diverted by the taxi waiting outside his house.
‘Follow that cab,’ she’d said, ticking an item off her bucket list and earning herself a derisive snort from her colleague at the same time.
The taxi had deposited him outside The Swan in Netherton, where they now sat, nursing soft drinks and trying to watch him inconspicuously.
‘What’s the plan, brains?’ she asked again.
‘Patience,’ he instructed.
‘You mean you have no plan?’
He ignored her and she followed his gaze. The man was clearly sociable and before long he was amongst a group of four who were moving towards the dartboard.
‘You definitely taking me home after this?’ she asked, taking out her phone.
‘Of course,’ Penn said, not taking his eyes from the target.
She sent a message to Devon. She’d been happy to help her colleague, but she wasn’t sure how long she was prepared to sit in a pub watching a grown man drink and play darts.
Devon’s reply was immediate with lots of emojis and hearts.
She smiled as she put her phone away. She was lucky. She had a job she enjoyed and a home to go back to with the woman she loved. Janice Sharpe had had every ounce of security taken away from her by a gambling husband. She wasn’t going to allow Terence Birch to take her happiness away from her.
It hadn’t taken long for Stacey to find out that the person who had made the bet with Barry Sharpe had been Peter Matheson’s brother-in-law. Matheson’s wife was a part-time doctor’s receptionist and there was no way they could afford what would have been over two thousand a month in rent. She got the scam. This house had cost Matheson’s brother-in-law nothing. He’d won it. It was now his asset to sell and he was receiving nominal rent from Matheson and his wife until the housing market kicked back in. For his part, Matheson was paying very little to live in a very nice house well beyond his pay packet.
Win-win for everyone except Janice Sharpe and her daughter.
Penn nudged her back to the present and she followed his gaze.
‘Fucking hell, Pete, you left your throwing arm at home?’ one of the men asked.
Stacey analysed the scene quickly.
The four players had split into two teams, and the guy in the check shirt who had just spoken was clearly Peter Matheson’s teammate. Matheson had just thrown a single twenty, a five and a one to give them a grand score of twenty-six.
Although the words had been jokey, the tone had said otherwise.
‘Just warming up, mate,’ Matheson said, although a muscle was jumping in his cheek.
Looking at the scores, the other team were miles ahead.
She and Penn watched silently as it worked back to Matheson’s turn.
After a couple of bad throws from the other side and a good round for his teammate, Matheson was left with only forty to get. He got a twenty. Aimed for double ten, got a single ten, aimed for double five and missed.
The other team cheered. His teammate shook his head.
‘Mate, you’d better get yourself off to Specsavers.’
