“Which animal?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.
“Halichoerus grypus,” he said. “Commonly known as the Atlantic gray seal.”
I said nothing.
“The blood was thoroughly mixed,” he said.
“Yes.”
“So thoroughly mixed that they were unable to pull entirely separate DNA strands. In fact the only complete DNA they’ve recovered is an even mix of human and seal genes.” He placed the report on the desk and laid his palm on it. “The scientists are floating various theories that could account for that level of genetic degradation. The leading theory is that the heat somehow fused the DNA.”
“Is that even possible?” I asked quietly.
He smiled. “No.”
We sat there.
The wall clock ticked away two full minutes before he spoke again.
Church said, “There’s a legend in Ireland and elsewhere about a magical creature called a selkie. They’re mysterious women who are actually seals.” He selected a cookie but didn’t eat it. Instead he rolled it back and forth on his desk top. “But that’s myth and legend.”
“Yes.”
“This is the real world.”
“Yes.”
“And we don’t — or can’t — believe in the impossible,” he said. “Can we, Captain?”
I said nothing. Three more minutes burned off the day. The office was absolutely quiet. Beyond the big picture window, the brown waters of the Baltimore Harbor flowed and churned as boats passed by.
“She’s dead,” murmured Church after a while.
“I know.”
“As much as both of us want her back, as much as each of us wants it to be untrue, Grace is dead.”
“I know,” I said.
Church finished his whiskey, got up and walked over to the window and stood there, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the water.
I looked at the fingerprint card.
The partial palm print was matched against the official fingerprint ten-card that was used to record the full set of prints when anyone enters government service. The card they’d compared the partial to was old. Someone had affixed a small gold star sticker to one corner. They don’t give gold stars when you do something great or if you score on a test. They add that to your record when you die.
The name on the card was a familiar one.
Looking at it twisted a knife in my heart.
The name was Grace Courtland.
I poured myself another glass of whiskey.