Nineteen-sixty-five. The Umpire had been a cricket sensation. As a schoolboy, he’d already been watched by the England selectors. Provision was made to ensure his talent was nurtured and developed. But…
If Albert of the ‘E’ crew was missing some vital pieces of human connection and born with a lack, then the Umpire was born with an extra dimension — a dimension of destruction. He liked to watch it burn. On the day of his first schoolboy accomplishments, he set fire to the pavilion. And got caught. His father beat him to a pulp and they put him away in a home for the seriously disturbed. They got that right. What they got wrong was releasing him. His first night home, his father took out all the press cuttings. All the stories of hope and triumph, then proceeded to whip him, ranting: ‘There’ll be no madness in this family.’
Could you beat insanity? It only drives it underground. Teaches the art of stealth. The first time the Umpire burned a dog, he couldn’t believe the rush, enhanced by such discovery. In his mind the words were etched: ‘See it burn.’
As the years passed, he began to look on the England team. The fame, publicity, accolades he felt were rightly his. It began to foment in his mind: if he couldn’t have the prizes, why should they? When he read Day of The Jackal he was elated. Then on to The Dogs of War, and as his psychosis came to full bloom he imagined himself to be Shannon, the hero of the book. Later, he thought, Frederick Forsyth would base a book on him.
Roberts studied the growing pile of paper on the Umpire, said: ‘I’ll get the murderer sooner or later. It’s always simpler when they’re insane.’
Brant said: ‘That’s a hell of a positive attitude. Way to go, Guv.’
A selfconscious Roberts blustered: ‘It’s a quote.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Thomas Gomez in Phantom Lady.’
‘Those old movies again, Guv, eh? It’s black-and-white, it’s a classic.’
‘Don’t be a daft bugger, sergeant. It’s film noir, never better than in the forties and fifties.’
Brant, already losing interest, answered: ‘You know, Guv.’
It wasn’t that Brant was an ignoramus, Roberts thought, but that he revelled in ignorance. His sole passion was to win. In his mind he played Robert Mitchum talking to Jane Greer in Out of The Past:
‘That’s not the way to play it.’
‘Why not?’
“Cause it isn’t the way to win.’
‘Is there a way to win?’
‘Well, there’s a way to lose more slowly.’
‘Ahhh.’
‘Guv. Guv!’ Brant’s harsh tone cut through his movie.
‘What?’
‘You’re muttering to yourself. Doesn’t look good.’
‘A privilege of rank.’
Brant was tempted to add: ‘Madness, more like.’ But he’d tested his cheek enough. For now.