The rock music thudded and screeched on. I was paralysed. I could not look at Hari. I was still terrified of him. In case he moved.

Fragments of my plan returned. I noticed that one of the bullet cases I had fired was on the floor, now being overtaken by Hari’s spreading blood. I leaned over it, kicked it away from the blood with my foot, rolled it by pressing on the thin carpet, trying to wipe away some of the blood.

I had discharged four rounds. I looked around for the other three cartridge cases, dreading that they too had been covered by the flood, or that Hari’s body had fallen on them, or that they had simply bounced and rolled somewhere I could not see or reach them. I was able to spot two of them straight away, but the fourth eluded me. I had to bend down, constantly terrified that someone downstairs had heard the noise of the violent struggle and would come up to investigate. Kneeling, I stretched out across the floor, feeling and groping for the small metal cylinder.

Then I saw it – it too had been overtaken by the spreading of Hari’s blood. Once again I rolled the casing out with my foot, and made a rudimentary attempt to clean it by wiping it on the carpet. I had Hari’s blood on my gloves, on my shoes.

I held in my right hand all the cases from the four bullets I had fired. With the other hand I reached down into the deep pocket of the trainer pants, located the cases I had picked up at the range, and scattered them on the floor around Hari’s body. Two of them fell into the pool of blood. I then clicked the safety catch on and slipped the gun down into the same pocket, together with the cases I had used.

I took off the cotton gloves and stuffed them into the same pocket. From the other I pulled out a clean pair.

The band was coming to the end of the number with a series of crashing climactic chords. I hurried away, down the stairs, pushed through the connecting door and entered the bar through the swing doors. No one turned to look at me. I pressed through the crush and made it to the street. As the door closed behind me everyone was cheering and waving their arms towards the stage.

I was in shock from what I had done. It was the first time I had fired a gun with intent, the first time I had killed. And the club. I could not forget the feeling of violently swinging the club against Hari’s head. I had done that. The memory would haunt me forever. Hari was someone I had known for many years, a colleague, a friend even, an important part of the plan we had devised, married to a senior colleague.