She called him later that day to take up his offer and they arranged to meet near Norbiton train station, in Kingston. Dabs told her to park her car there and he would pick her up and drive her to the shooting club.

‘Can’t you just give me the address and I’ll meet you there?’

‘I could, but it’s like a rabbit warren of small roads off a big council estate and it’s quite hard to find. Plus, there’s a secure entrance gate, which you have to have a code for, so it’s just easier if I take you there.’

*

At 6:30 p.m. the following Thursday Jane followed Dabs’s instructions, parked near the station and then stood outside a fish and chip shop waiting to be collected. He turned up a few minutes later driving a rather beat-up green Mini Clubman.

‘Sorry for all the junk in the back,’ he said, opening the passenger door for her. ‘I’ve been working more or less twenty-four/seven.’

‘Well, thank you for giving me your time, Dabs, I really appreciate it.’

He went quiet for a moment as he concentrated on driving through the narrow back streets with large council estates on either side.

‘Are you married?’ Jane asked.

‘I am. Fifteen years. She’s a professional carer. We lost our only boy when he was seven. He had myeloid leukemia, and for Joan caring for others has helped her get over it. Same for me, really.’

‘I’m so sorry about your son,’ Jane said. It was strange how little you really knew the people you worked with. All she had remembered about Dabs was his sheer professionalism and knowledge of ballistics. Now she realized he was also a very decent man.

Dabs put on the headlights as they continued along a narrow, dimly lit road.

‘I’ve been here so many times but I still drive past it. Here it is!’

Jane frowned. ‘You sure?’

They were in a narrow dead-end road.

Dabs laughed. ‘Well, it’s a pretty exclusive place, this. Not many people know about it, unless you’re into shooting, even though it’s been here for over fifty years. It used to be part of a leisure club attached to the post office in Surbiton back in 1966.’

They stopped by two large wooden gates with a sign on the wall saying ‘Surbiton Postal Rifle Club’. Dabs got out of the car and used a set of keys to unlock one side of the gates, sliding it open, then returned to the car. They entered a large car park and Dabs parked, returned to slide the main gate closed, and relocked it. Jane climbed out as Dabs opened the rear double doors of the Mini and took out a black leather duffle bag. He placed it down on the ground beside him as he locked the car.