“It is another of these cannibal killings that has been plaguing us,” assayed the chief of the local constabulary when he filled in the details of the recent murder to Inspector Jack Haverstock, of the criminal investigation department of Scotland Yard. “Detective Sergeant Giles knows the way. Good hunting.”

"The body is down there in the hollow," said the detective sergeant as he escorted the inspector through the shaded wooded glen under the canopy of a clear English spring day.

Inspector Jack Haverstock was assigned by the authorities above to the investigation of a series of unsolved murders centered around the towns in the Midlands district, labelled by the ghouls of the, press, 'The Cannnibal Feast". Inspector Haverstock shook his grizzled head and pondered about the pending case, “Getting old for such work. Couldn’t they find younger man? Damn!” His flush face crinkled in thought and his greyish eyes squinted in anger. Still he pushed his middling body ahead, trying to keep step with the footfalls of the younger and fitter detective sergeant.

Five bodies had been discovered in the past two years murdered, together with the removal of definite body organs and flesh. There was a thorough examination of all clues and theories, even of cult groups and persons with criminal intent or with crazed ideals. Despite all efforts on the part of the police, the investigation was at a dead end with no solution as to reason for the butchery or of the murderer or murderers. Now, a sixth victim had been found with the same M O.

The detectives made their way, dodging low hanging branches and tripping at times over the debris of the forest, till they reached a shallow cavity. They paused for a few moments before entering the hollow in order to catch their breaths. During the short break Inspector Haverstock surveyed the cavity and the surrounding area. Yellow tape that encircled it indicated the murder investigation scene. The constabulary was seen in full force as they surrounded the area in their various duties to the criminal investigation. A few curious souls were looking on, orderly to the directions of the police.

Both the inspector and the detective sergeant ducked under the tape, scrambled a few feet down the gulley till they reached the spot where the corrupt body lay. Alongside it was the pathologist who was busy examining the remains with an assistant. A photographer, under his instructions, was nearby busily taking photos of the victim and of the crime scene.

The patholgist heard the steps of the officers as they scurried down the rough decline. He turned towards them and voiced his thoughts, "Inspector Jack Haverstock, and soon to be chief inspector, my pleasure in meeting you once again, and you too, Sergeant Giles. He raised his portly body from the ground and he proferred a pudgy hand to the officers, which was accepted grudgingly.

The inspector growled lightly at the welcome and snapped an answer, "Doctor Higgins, my dear doctor please, we didn't come here for a tete a tete..."

"Temper, temper!” the elder doctor answered with a slight smile on his cherubic features. “Before you might ask pertinent questions, I would say the deceased is a white male in his elder years, portly and rather short in stature. The time of death it hard to tell as the looks of his body showed that he had been placed in some sort of refrigeration. The skin is bluish and moist with water, an indication of my theory. I will know more when I will do a thorough autopsy. The murderer was probably surprised by a night visitor, probably a poacher, as the sacked remains was apparently dumped haphazardly into this hollow."

"Take a look at the corpse. It seems to have been butchered as parts of the body have been cut out - the heart, the liver, the intestines and lungs, even some of the parts of the flesh. Gory sight tis' be.. I'm afraid my dear inspector it is the same scenario of the last five murderous remains, which had been discovered; maybe more that might be buried.... 'The Feast of the Cannibals'."

Inspector Haverstock gagged as he bent down and gazed at the remains, but the detective sergeant, quickly turned away as he saw that the corpse's head had been cleaved open and hollowed. The young officer’s pleasant features turned to green in colour and he ran fast on his longish legs to a far corner and vomitted out the steak and kidney pudding of his lunch.

"Sergeant Giles, you may be excused," commented the concerned inspector in a loud voice, "I'll take it from here."

With the aid of the pathologist's assistant, the inspector searched the partial clothed body and the burlap shroud for any clue to the identity. Laundry marks on his underwear shorts and a sock were sighted and noted, a wedding ring mark on the third finger indicated he had been married... and "hello, what's this?" the investigator remarked when he found a shoe meshed on the bottom of the coarse covering fabric. Upon examination it showed that the heel of the shoe had been replaced recently and bore the mark of a rough hand in its working.

The pathologist was curious and he took the shoe from the inspector and looked at the heel, "Looks like the work of the saddler in one of the villages near the forest. Does a bit of shoe repair if asked. He is a rough elderly devil when his stomach was filled with devil's brew. Be careful when you chat with him, doesn't like coppers."

"Doesn't like coppers, eh what you said. We'll teach him a bit of civilty if he becomes nasty," commented the inspector.

The investigating detective searched about for further clues in the identification of the victim. Finding none he then ordered the body to be covered and removed to the coroner's wagon. Questions were asked to the local police authorities, but answers to the name and personal history fitting the description of the victim were missing.

The local police had tracked two scabrous poachers who had witnessed the dumping of the body and were brought to the scene. Their answers to the questions of the inspector were evasive, as they were afraid of being charged with poaching. But with a bit of prodding the poachers repeated their story they had told the authorities; that they had examined the burlap bag expecting a rich prize, but instead found a bloody body. They admitted to being the anonymous callers who led the police to the scene of murder.

Then Jack Haverstock ordered the chief constable to send a few of his officers to search the surrounding area for possible evidence to the murder, but all efforts almost proved futile. Suddenly a police officer called out that he had found a slim trail of blood. The spots of blood were followed till it reached its mark, namely a short well-used ax; it seemed it had been dropped or thrown near a small bramble bush.

The detective sergeant had recovered from his vomitting fit and had joined his superior in examining the bloody ax. "Ahh, I see you are better, Giles. Bag the ax and send it to the crime lab boys to check the DNA and fingerprints. I'm afraid we have little to go on at the present moment so we have to the nitty-gritty police work by calling at various households. First, I need to do a bit of shoe repair."

Later in the day the inspector and his sergeant were seen entering the saddler's shop near the entrance of the village. Suprisingly, the saddler was quite congenial upon their visit to the lair of his trade in leather. He even cleared a few cuts from two rough stools to allow the coppers to sit during their questioning. And more surpising he was quite helpful as he recognized his handicraft.

"Yup, do remember the dear chappie. Came to my place about two weeks ago. Nice old duffer. Had a bit of chitchat with him when I put on the heels; rather scuffed and needed changing. How he came to my place I do not know; probably where he rented told him. Do remember, called him James Fister or was it Foster. Comes from Leicester, a few miles from here. Lookin' for a quiet spot in his later years, and came to this h'yar place. Said he had been in the village for a day or two, maybe more, can't recollect. I think he was a clerk or bookeeper. As I spelled with him, a very important chap entered. So, I quickly finished up the work. Never did ask him where he had found his board as the vip was noisily having fits."

"Well, that is surprising," commented the inspector to his sergeant, "a bit of homework and we will find out the identity of the murder victim."

True to the inspector's words, a telephone call to the Leicester's constabulary revealed the identity of the deceased. As the detective sat at a desk of the dictrict police station, he learned that man's name was really James Fister, a retired clerk. He was reported missing by his sister, as she had no correspondence from him for the past two weeks. According to the report by the kin, James Fister was an orderly man, quite prompt in posting letters to her, especially in his travels in search of a haven. Copies of a photo of the late James Fister were immediately sent via a special messenger.

A section of the station had been turned into a criminal investigation center where evidence to murder was seen tacked to a large board. A photo of the murder victim was in prominent display as well as photos of the remains and of the murder scene. On the nearby desk was the pathologist’s report which confirmed the medical theory; that the deceased had been killed two weeks past, refrigerated and had been butchered a few hours before the sight of the dumping. Other files on the desktop was the crime labratory's report stating the DNA match of blood were similar to the victim, but all fingerprints on the ax had been smeared by the blood. Alongside there were complete police reports on the unsolved murders with the same trademark of the killer or killers.

Chief inspector Jack Haverstock sat back in the swivel chair and surveyed all the evidence of the crime and he turned to his assisting sergeant. "Well, my dear Giles we know the identity of the murder victim. That's all. We do not know of his whereabouts before the time of his death. Nor do we do not know who butchered him and for what reason. I'm afraid we have a lot of work cut out for ourselves. Since the saddler was the last to see the victim, we’ll have a look around his village. No need to bother the local constabulary for their help.”

True to his word, the inspector and the detective sergeant, armed with the photo of the deceased, was in the knocking on doors of the small village the following day; they were inquiring of knowledge of the deceased that will add another piece to the solution of the puzzling murder. A good majority of the householders stood at the doorsteps of their homes as they looked once or twice at the photo; then they shrugged their shoulders or nodded in the negative. A few of the householders had a vague impression of seeing James Fister, but in their busy lives took no notice of the stranger.

"Well, Sergeant Giles, I suppose this is the last house in the village. Then we can relax our tired feet. We had been rather busy the past hours and I can down a pint or two and relax a bit. I presume you agree with me. The hour is late. Tomorrow we can continue our investigation by spreading the constabulary about the district."

The house, referred to, was a two-storey cottage with a thatched roof, a pleasant habitat which spoke of a comfortable life. The cottage was set in a remote corner of the village, a bit far from the nearest dwelling. "Probably it was a farmstead at one time,' commented Sergeant Giles as he noted a small-barn like structure, surrounded by wooden railings in the back lot, far from the house. "It looks like a sheep pen."

"Pigsty, my dear Giles, that is a pigsty, sniff the bloody air," commented Haverstock as the two made their way to the entrance portal. The inspector raised a fisted hand and with care rapped on the entrance door.

A middle-aged woman, full of smiles on her cherubic face, answered the call. She looked through a glass panel of the door and queried to the identity of the caller. Inspector Haverstock as well as Detective Sergeant Giles displayed their official identity cards, "Police ma'am,' sounded the inspector, “We're doing a bit of inquiries and we need your assistance."

The door opened and if by magic there were two middle-aged women standing at the door. Both were dressed in a similar fashion with dowdy clothing of darkish gray and aproned with a bright print. They were almost the same short height, a bit stout and grey in hair. They appeared almost as twins but the facial signs of older years were signed on one of them.

The eldest one looked straight into the eyes of the officer and declared, "my name is Miss Elthera Hodgkins and this is my younger sister Miss Dorothea Hodgkins. "Now, gentlemen how can we help you?", as she and her sisters escorted the detectives into their parlor. Comfortable plush seats were offered; Sergeant Giles adjusted his frame in his comfort, while the chief inspector preferred a hard chair. Tea was offered along with small heart-shaped meat flavored pies, but Inspector Haverstock only took a cuppa, whereas the sergeant accepted two of the pastries; and after a nibble or two he remarked on their delicious taste.

"Milk, sugar? There we are!" as teacups were passed. Teaspoons were stirred; cups were lifted and sipped. Sergeant Giles had appetizingly demolished his share of the meat pastries; but desisted reaching for a third one upon the angry stare of the inspector.

After a brief pause, the two sisters gave their full attention to the question at hand. "Now how can we be of help to your inquiries," questioned Elthera. Inspector Haverstock removed the photo of James Fister and handed it to her. Both women stared deeply into the jovial face of man now dead and butchered.

Miss Dorothea Hodgkins chirped, "Yes, I do remember that delightful man. Don't you remember Elthera, he came to us inquiring of board and lodging." Miss Elthera Hodgkins confirmed her sister's remarks and added, "we usually do not rent out rooms as we live in a lonely part of the village and we do not like strangers in our midst. We made an exception to Mr. James Fister, as he was most trusting and charming. Over tea and biscuits we talked of rent and rules which he aggreed."

"The chubby little chap was most amusing and appealing in his appearance," Dorothea chirped again, "such a delectable chap!"

Miss Elthera Hodgkins interrupted, "The dear man paid two weeks in advance, slept in his room overnight as the hour was late. He left the next morning to attend to some needed affairs in the village. I remember he came back to the house later in the morning as he said he had forgotten his wallet which had his claim ticket for his luggage."

Miss Elthera's words were a bit confusing, "Ahh yes, I saw the tired look on the face of poor James Lister, trekking all the way and back from the station. I told the poor dear to have a rest and after a bit tea, he could inquiry about his luggage, as the station is open till six. Yes, that is what occured. The last that I can recall was that he left at four in the afternoon for the train depot, but he never returned. Very strange, very strange indeed. We reported it to the constable on his rounds, but he was unable to believe our story." "Never told another soul as people would consider our story a fantasy of two so-called dotty sisters. So, we kept it a secret amoungst ourselves," interjected Dorothea. Then she looked quizically at her sister who confirmed her statement.

Miss Elthera Hodgkins spoke in excitement, "Strange man, was he a criminal, an embezzeler... Could have been a spy as his heels of his shoes were rather scuffed... Now, what on earth happened to him? Murdered, you say. Dear, dear, such a horrible death." But neither the inspector nor his sergeant went into details.

Jack Haverstock made a mental note of the remarks; and an inquiry to the constable would be in order. He also noted that a trip to the train depot for James Fister's luggage would be in order. The inspector's thoughts confirmed that the sisters were actualy dotty in their elder years by their fussing about. He suspected in their lonliness that they probably dreamt of their fantasy in seeing James Fister. His proof was in the their confused description of the man; both sisters had different views. "Happened before!' he thought of a similar instance which nearly fouled up a murder investigation.

Still Inspector Haverstock had a suspicious feeling about the sisters and he needed more answers. He diverted the attention of the sisters by pointing to the potted plants lining the window stills and queried their species. The sisters were quite helpful to his inquiries and they were busily chirping away on the names to the potted plants, much to the boredom of the inspector. But the good officer stuck to his duty and contintued to simulate his interest.

When the inspector noticed the sisters’s gaze were to the attention of the plants he gave a silent command with a slight movement to his head to his sergeant, which was meant for a cursory investigation of the premises. The message was understood, but unoticed by the sisters. Sergeant Giles spoke of the needed facitities of the toliet to relieve himself. The inspector growled in faked displeasure, "go ahead, if you need to go!"

Miss Dorothea Hodgkins was quite helpful as she directed the sergeant to the loo, "Go through the hall past the kitchen. The lavatory is first door on the right at the end. Then with a flick of her wrist she pressed an electric switch, which illuminated the long corridor. She returned immediately to the attention of the inspector and his inquiries of her plants.

As Detective Sergeant Giles walked through the well-lit passage, he noticed its walls were decorated with photos and other memorbilia of an African journey. A painting of some African warriors with a motto underneath caught his attention. Part of the words was in an African tongue, but at the end of the narration was a translation in English, "By eating parts of a slain enemy warrior, he shares in his attributes and powers, and enacts a noble and sacred act." A Reverend Nigel Hodgkins signed it. Then his eyes searched other photos on the walls, noticing one with a stereotype grained photo of a man and two girls standing beside a wooden building in a jungle setting with sign reading, "All Faith Mission, Zambia". Other thoughts on the mark of the sergeant indicated that the man was a possible widower carrying for two daughters. Other photos probably indicated that the two sisters and their father had been on missionary work in Africa. Sergeant Giles didn't carry on his scrutiny as his need was actually pressing.

As Sergeant Giles past the kitchen upon his return, he peered in the kitchen quickly and noticed a heavyset man leaving through the door leading to the back lot. A quick glimpse revealed an oldish black man with whitish gray skin, topped with white brillo map of hair; the features on his face were scarred with tribal marks. Giles was able to note that his clothes were coarse and illfitting... and he was shoeless. The glint of a handled steel fitted to his thick leather belt flashed momentarily into the sight of the sergeant as it scrapped a large standing enamelled container.

Detetive Sergent Giles returned hurriedly to the parlor and to the eyes of the inspector. A nod by the sergeant confirmed the commands of his superior had been fullfilled. Then, with a bit of haste, the two officers readied themselves, thanked profusely with apologies for the attention of the sisters and left the premises.

Detective Sergeant Giles told of his sighting in his cursory examination of the corridor and of the kitchen, and of his supicions. The inspector agreed with him, "I'll have the chief constable station some men in plain clothes near the cottage. I have feeling that some of the secrets within will give us the needed answers to the strange demise of James Fister."

"Oh by way Sergeant Giles, I hope you enjoyed the meat pastries..." Before he was able to finish, the detective sergeant, had grabbed on his choking throat, turned whitish-gray in colour, and with hasty steps ran to a far corner of the front garden.