Tea and Blood

Tea and Blood with a spatula he worked around the face and carefully built up layers of plaster until it was about a quarter inch thick.

While it was drying Jim made a pot of tea, sat at his front room table and planned the process as he dunked a rich tea finger biscuit. He’d never made one of a policeman, the only uniformed jugs were of a fellow National Serviceman, who’d stolen his girl in Singapore, and that Sergeant who’d made him clean out the jungle camp latrines for a week in Malaya. They were numbers six and eight. Both sat on the bottom shelf, the stolen girl, number seven between them.

On the shelf above them was his only real ‘star’, Lord Lucan.

Jim was pleased with how he’s got the moustache just right.

Lucan never paid him for some work he’d done sorting out the nanny, so he’d got what he deserved.

He jolted himself out of these musings; the cast would be ready now.

The blood on the floor had begun to coagulate and was sticky under Jim’s feet as he carefully lifted the cast away from the hardening face. It came off cleanly. Perfect he thought and carried it to the cellar to harden off in his rapid dryer.

Next he needed to deal with the body. He knew it would probably be easiest to cut it up where it lay, so he took up some thick plastic sheeting, bowls for draining blood, an air sealable bin for the stomach and bowels, and his flaying and butchering tools. Hips were always a problem, thick bone, as his house was detached no neighbours would hear the electric saw, but on second thought, this late at night sound may travel, he decided to do most of the work by hand.

As he sawed off the head it dropped with a thud, and some brain splattered onto his face, the smell was getting very strong so Jim put a mask on. He liked to use the skull and hands to grind down for the bone ash, they seemed most apt, though 40