Notes:
Tw: graphic description of violence and death
The lady at the desk nodded
"The prisoners are outside for lunch. Do you want to wai-
Charles cut her off
"No. I. Will. Not. Wait. "
Charles felt a bit bad being rude to her, after all, she was only doing her job. But he had to get justice for his wife, and he would stop at nothing until that happened.
The lady lead him to the yard where the inmates were and left him alone. Charles took in a deep breath. This was it.
He walked up to a prisoner who was sitting on a bench by himself. One look at him and he could tell he wasn't the prisoner he was looking for.
Firstly, Josu was 59 and this man looked about 29-32. His face was youthful yet tired, and there was a slight... kindness in his eyes. Something Charles knew Josu wasn't capable of. His hair was jet black and his eyes were hazel, his face was clean shaven- another difference between him and Josu, who, in Charles mind, had the ugliest mustache ever. And he was looking at a picture of a woman- who he assumed was his wife and a girl... his daughter?
"Hello sir," Charles went up to the man, "what's your name?"
The man looked at Charles with a surprisingly friendly smile.
"I'm Greg Jefferson."
Charles looked at Greg. He didn't seem that bad. On the contrary, he seems rather relaxed and calm.
"So... do you know where Josu Urrutikoetxea is?" Charles questioned.
Greg nodded.
"He's sitting under that dead oak tree"
Greg pointed to a very much dead oak tree. The branches were bare and the trunk was turning a slimy black. Many branches had already fallen off and he could smell the stench from over here. Unless it was Josu who stunk, which wouldn't surprise him at all.
"So... this may seem very personal and you don't have to answer but... why are you here?" Charles asked Greg.
