Carson sighed with frustration. “Where else on the body should we look?”
“That’s the problem. The notches in the dorsal fin are like a fingerprint. We primarily use those for photo ID. Unfortunately, the dorsal-fin photos of Delphine that you already showed us are not in our database. And now, her dorsal fin was compromised by the fishing line. Lopped off the tip. The damage there is small, but it’s like cutting off part of your fingerprint.”
“What about the tail fluke?”
“We already documented the shark bite.” He shook his head. “We’d need some mark that was there before the shark bite.”
Carson rose to her feet as a memory surfaced. “Wait a minute! I just might have something.” On her camera, she scrolled through countless photos. “I took more photos of Delphine when I was in Florida.”
“Those won’t help. I need pictures documenting scars before you met her.”
“I know, I know. Hold on . . .” Carson knew what she was looking for. Suddenly she stopped. “Found it!”
Blake leaned over to take a closer look at the photograph showing Delphine diving under the water, her fluke high in the air.
“I’ve seen her injured fluke.”
“Don’t look at her left fluke. Zoom in on her right tail fluke.” Carson waited while Blake did so, aware that his chest pressed against her back. “There!” She pointed. “See that small hole?”
Blake zoomed again. “That small one? The size of a dime?”
“Right. During the summer when I took those other photos of Delphine in the Cove, I was focusing on her eyes, her expression. Like a mother taking photos of her baby. But these”—Carson indicated the photos on the camera—“I took these to document her scars. I thought it was important to follow up her healing. That’s when I noticed that small hole on her right tail fluke. I thought it was odd how it’s perfectly round, like it was punched with a paper hole puncher. She had this hole before she went to the hospital. It’s not a normal scar, right?”
“Right,” he said slowly, studying the photograph. “A round hole isn’t normal, like notches or rake marks from other dolphins. It certainly would be unidentifiable.”
She chewed her lip. “Do you have photos of tail flukes in your database?”
Blake lowered the camera and met her gaze, only inches away. He was smiling. “We do.”
Carson released a heavy sigh of relief and beamed. “Thank God.”
Blake straightened and crossed his arms. “We still have one other concern to cover.”
Carson stared back at him. “What’s that?”
“You.”
Carson heard the word like a blow to the midsection. “What do you mean, me?”
Blake shifted his weight, then looked directly into her eyes. “One of the key conditions for clearance is the dolphin’s behavior. Knowing that the dolphin did not take food from humans while in the wild.” His expression was implacable. “We both know the answer to that one.”
Carson stared back.
Blake shifted as though uncomfortable, clearly reluctant to say anything that would cause Carson pain. His tone softened. “Simply put, Delphine’s ability to survive in the wild is considered compromised by your actions.”
Carson felt awash with a wave of guilt, and her chin wobbled as she tried not to cry. Not only was she responsible for Delphine’s injuries, but that she might be the reason the dolphin was not released back into the wild was a crushing blow.
“But,” Blake continued, and Carson felt a flash of hope, “there is something we call a conditional release.”
“What are the conditions?”
Blake paused to open the folder again and shift through the papers. Finding the passage he searched for, he read aloud, “ ‘Attraction to humans in the wild has been extinguished.’ ” Blake closed the folder.
Carson stared back at Blake. In her eyes she saw a NOAA official determined to follow the rules and to do what was best for the dolphin. But she also saw compassion.
“Can you assure me—promise me—that you will no longer have interaction with the dolphin known as Case Number 1107?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Blake held her gaze and lifted his hand to count off his fingers. “You will not attract her to your dock. You will not feed her. You will not whistle or call to her. You will not do anything to draw her to you in any way, shape, or form. And you promise to let her be wild in the full sense of the word.” Blake dropped his hand.
“Yes.”
“Then it’s possible Case Number 1107 will be cleared for a conditional release.” Blake’s expression grew serious. “But you should know me well enough by now that I will not play favorites. If Delphine persists in hanging around your dock or does anything else that exhibits her inability to let go of her attachment to you, I will recommend recapture.”
“What happens then?”
“That would depend on the dolphin’s health at that point. If Delphine doesn’t thrive after release, if she doesn’t hunt or become a social member of her community, she’ll go back to rehabilitation. The choice then would be to release her to a facility or euthanize.”
Just the possibility of euthanasia had Carson’s knees weak.
“The bond is two-sided. We have to see if Delphine will be able to leave you alone, too.”
Carson averted her gaze, remembering how Delphine had whistled with joy at seeing her again at the Mote hospital. “Maybe we shouldn’t take that chance. Maybe we shouldn’t release her here in the Cove. At least if she goes to the Dolphin Research Center, she’ll be safe.”
“It doesn’t work like that. The first goal is to release the dolphin to the wild. Delphine is still young and reproductively in her prime.” Blake released a reluctant smile. “I have to tell you, after what you’ve just said, I believe that you’ll do whatever you have to do for Delphine’s best interests.” He smiled at her. “My recommendation will be for release to the Cove.”
Carson gave in to impulse and leaped to her feet and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you, Blake.”
Neither one of them made a move to pull away, each enjoying the contact again after so long. It was always this way between them. Sparks flew when they touched. Carson finally, reluctantly loosened her hold and slid slowly away. She teetered, feeling dizzy.