He stopped when he came to a message which read: ‘So, where is Charlotte Morgan going on holiday this summer?’

At that, Mr Souster had telephoned the police.

Chapter 118.

118.

BACK IN THE UK, Carr had a minor op to tidy up the shrapnel wound to his buttock, and then spent a couple of days unwinding with Skelton and Kev McMullen, and a few Regiment and ex-Regiment guys who’d known Fred West, and were not deployed or otherwise out of the country.

On the Thursday, he visited West’s mum at her small, neat home in Gloucester, to tell her that her son had died doing what he’d loved, and in a noble cause.

He explained that, as Fred’s only surviving relative, she was owed her son’s share of the money – his £300k fee, and the million for his death.

Mrs West, a stoical, resolute woman, thought for a few moments, and smiled sadly.

‘That’s alright, my dear,’ she said. ‘What would I do with that kind of money, at my age? I’ve got my memories, and I’m proud of my boy, and that’s enough. There’s worthier causes.’

‘Such as?’ said Carr.

‘Give half to the charity at the camp,’ she’d said. ‘The Clock-tower Fund, is it? For the families of the lads who’ve died. Give the other half to Leukaemia Research, would you? Paul had an older sister, you know. He was only five when she died. But he never forgot her.’

‘That’s very generous of you, Mrs West,’ said John Carr.

‘It’s what he would have wanted,’ she said.

And then, dignified and polite, she showed Carr to the door.

The following day, he was collected at his flat in Primrose Hill in a black Jaguar and driven to 10 Downing Street, and then shown up to the Prime Minister’s flat on the third floor.

The door was opened by a man – late fifties, greying, expensively dressed – who held out his hand.

‘Mr Carr?’ he said. ‘I’m Paddy Morgan. Please come in.’

Carr followed him through to the living room, where Penelope Morgan and Justin Nicholls were sitting on beige sofas.

‘My wife,’ said Morgan. ‘And I think you know Justin?’

‘Aye,’ said Carr, shaking hands with the Prime Minister, and nodding at Nicholls.

‘Please,’ said Penelope Morgan. ‘Sit.’

Carr sat in the armchair she had indicated.

‘Mr Carr,’ said Paddy Morgan, sitting down next to his wife. ‘Look, I… We can never thank you enough for what you and your colleagues did for us. There aren’t the words.’

Carr nodded. ‘John’s fine,’ he said. ‘How is she?’

‘She’s doing surprisingly well… John,’ said Penelope Morgan. ‘She’s lost a lot of weight, but she was otherwise unharmed.’

‘Psychologically?’ said Carr.