Mr. Fanning has a broken finger.

I don’t know how he got the broken finger. I asked him before I sent him over to radiology for an x-ray, but he was squirrelly about the details. The x-ray showed a fracture of the middle phalanx of his little finger, and I called the radiology department at the local hospital that provides official reports of our x-rays to confirm that the fracture didn’t go through a joint and wasn’t displaced. It looks like a simple fracture—one that can be treated easily with buddy taping.

After I get off the phone with radiology, I emerge from the examining room to find Mr. Fanning sitting in one of the plastic chairs in the hallway, joking around with Officer Hunt. Hunt is outright hostile to most of the inmates, so I’m surprised to see him on good terms with Fanning.

“Mr. Fanning,” I say. “Come on inside.”

Mr. Fanning grunts slightly as he gets out of the chair. He is in his early fifties with a large gut that stretches his khaki jumpsuit. He has that central obesity that makes me think he’s within five years of a major heart attack. Hopefully, by the time he starts getting those crushing chest pains, I’ll have moved on to another better job.

I assume Hunt doesn’t think Fanning is a safety concern, because he closes the door ninety percent of the way. Fanning climbs up on the examining table, cradling his right hand. It’s not a bad fracture, but it sucks for him that it happened on his dominant hand.

“So is it broken?” The bags under Fanning’s eyes seem to deepen. “It is, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I confirm. “But it’s a minor fracture. We can treat it here.”

Fanning looks doubtfully at his right hand. His pinky finger has turned almost purple, and his ring finger doesn’t look great either, but at least that

one isn’t broken. He’s lucky he wasn’t wearing any rings, because we’d probably have to cut them off.

“It will heal fine,” I reassure him. “I promise. We just need to immobilize it.”

“Okay, Brooke,” he says. “If you say so.”

I’m glad he goes along with this plan. It’s not exactly easy for a prisoner to get a second opinion, especially since I don’t seem to have a doctor backing me up. The inmates have rights, and if he lawyered up, we would be in trouble. But most of the men either don’t know they can do this or don’t care enough. In any case, I try to give them the best medical treatment I can.

I grab some paper tape from a drawer so I can buddy tape his fourth and fifth digits together. Fanning watches me, a look of growing concern on his face. “That’s all you’re going to do?”

I wrap the tape around his fingers. “This is the standard treatment. It was a simple fracture—we just need to immobilize it.”

“And it will heal?” “Absolutely.”

Fanning grimaces with pain as I stretch out his fingers to wrap the tape evenly. “Goddamn Nelson.”

I jerk my head up. “What?”

“Nothing,” Fanning says, his eyes suddenly wide with panic. “Never mind.”

“Mr. Fanning.” I wrap one more layer of tape over his fingers. “Can you please tell me how this happened?”

“I already told you.” He averts his gaze. “A door closed on my hand. I swear.”

Of course, he could be telling the truth. Maybe a door did close on his hand, and that’s how he broke his finger. But then the question would be, was somebody holding his hand in the door when it closed? If they were, that person meant business. They meant to smash two of the fingers of his dominant hand to smithereens.

And why did he say the name Nelson?

Then again, it’s not like Nelson isn’t a common name. No, I don’t remember there being any other files with the last name Nelson on them

when I was looking in the file cabinet. But it could be somebody’s first

name. Couldn’t it?

I ensure that the tape has secured his fingers so he can’t bend them, and then Mr. Fanning is good to go. He holds up his hand, still looking skeptical that a roll of tape can heal his fracture, but he accepts it.

“Come back in a week,” I tell him. “We’ll see how it’s healing.” He nods. “Thanks, Brooke. I appreciate it.”

“Just don’t slam your hand in any other doors, got it?” He winces. “Yeah. I’ll try—believe me.”

Fanning slides down off the table, and I let Hunt back into the room to escort him to his cell. I watch the two of them disappear down the hallway, and I still can’t help but wonder how he got that fracture.

Goddamn Nelson.

He couldn’t have been talking about Shane. Maybe Shane was dangerous on the outside, but not here. If anything, Shane has been a target here in prison. He certainly isn’t going around breaking other people’s fingers.

But the truth is, I don’t entirely know what he is capable of.