“Perhaps in a developed country it is,” Dr. Montero said. “But I should remind you, we’re not in a developed country.”

“No, we’re not,” he agreed. “Yet while cloverleaf deformity may account for the protuberant forehead, it does not and cannot explain the other abnormalities I noted.”

“I’m not familiar enough with the anatomy of the human skull to agree or disagree with you. I’m an oceanographer, not a forensic anthropologist—as are you, Dr. Murdoch.”

Marty smiled tightly. Scientists could be some of the most obstinate people on the planet. They understood that disciplined methodology—the rational interpretation of observational evidence—was the only way integrity could be maintained during the scientific process; the only buffer between science and snake oil, so to speak. Yet when faced with observational evidence that was at odds with their worldviews, critical thinking and healthy skepticism all too often devolved into bias and stubbornness.

He had hoped better from Dr. Montero.

“I would be happy to hear the opinion of a forensic anthropologist,” he told her, finally setting the skull back in the cardboard box. “If you know of any in town, please invite them over. In the meantime my assistant is piloting my research vessel from Colombo to Mirissa as we speak. She should be here by noon. I have a DNA lab aboard that could settle the matter more definitely than the opinion of any medical examiner. That is, if you don’t object to a genetic test being performed on the skull, Dr. Montero?”

“No objections at all. In fact, I would be very interested in your findings.” She turned to Jacky. “Now, Miss DeSilva—Jacky—about the interview. I’m still happy to sit down with you, but I want you to know beforehand that I won’t be speculating about anything outside of my field of expertise. Which is to say, I’ll answer any questions you have about the great white necropsy, but I won’t opine about the skull.”

“That’s fair enough,” Jacky said.

“Come inside the office with me then. It’s air-conditioned, and there’s a machine that brews passable coffee. Dr. Murdoch, Miss Fernandez, a colleague of mine filmed the necropsy. Perhaps you’d be interested in viewing it in the meantime?”

∆∆∆

The necropsy was over thirty minutes long, and when Marty and Rad came to the dissection of the shark’s stomach near the end of it, they were fascinated as Dr. Montero removed the skull from what appeared to be a soup of putrefied whale blubber. Marty replayed this section of the video several times.

He slumped back in his chair and said, “I think we can safely say that wasn’t a hoax.”

Rad said, “Unless they force-fed the skull to the shark while it was alive, or shoved the skull down its throat when it was dead.”

“You really believe that?”

“Nope.”

“Which leaves us with one of two scenarios. The skull either belonged to the unfortunate victim of cloverleaf deformity, or a fantastical creature that has populated the myths and legends of nearly every human culture since the dawn of civilization. Which do you think?”