Dawn was just breaking.
The early-rising Jail Guards were met with a horrifying scene.
A man in pajamas, his face covered in a beard, hung limply in mid-air, wrists bound behind his back, bearing an expression of death.
The Jail Guards, unsure of the situation, pointed and questioned each other.
"What's going on? What time is it? Isn't it time for a shift change?" Casare, with dark circles under his eyes, approached and demanded with a scowl to see the crowd around him.
Many Jail Guards hurriedly walked away, while a fair number who were on good terms with him remained.
"Warden Casare, who is that?" a Jail Guard sporting a Sergeant's insignia offered a cigarette, his face eager to please.
Casare hesitated, but knowing they would find out soon enough, he took the cigarette and muttered begrudgingly, "Olivier."
Eager to ensure he understood, he added, "He did what Franz did yesterday."
