Craigs List

Time Sunday Jan 10th 1987 , 7.30pm. Location: North Sea.

Air bubbles streamed and trailed behind the falling object, like tiny messages, heading upward to safety.

It span faster and faster as it sank, the grey murky water sucking at the defenseless limbs.

Seaweed tentacles began to swirl around and entomb the corpse.

Finally, the green slimey object slowed,  and dissolved into the rocky underwater seafloor landscape.

The small pewter box, nestled inside the  jacket pocket, had managed to survive the journey.

Sunday Jan 10th 1987. Time: 6.30pm. Location: Cruden Bay Police Station.

Cruden Bay: Population 1600.  One school, one church, one post office. Everyone knows everyone. Most are 3rd or 4th generation residents. One hotel houses the occasional oil industry worker en route to the rigs or taking a weekend off.  Nothing much happens here, except early morning trawling and early evening pub events. So this day was the same as any other. Nothing really happened.

It was slushy and wet outside, a severe snowstorm having just passed through the area. The Station clock ticked loudly.

Constable Joseph Brine was slumped down in his swivel chair at the main desk.

He was reading the Cruden Sunday Times, an article about the new road building going on on the A975 road up the hill nearby. The paper was all of 4 folded broadsheets. Mostly personals, ads, church services and the like. The wedding of Craig Smith to Patricia Paulson caught his eye , in that a rare update  had been added, stating the small ceremony was canceled. Apparently, the groom did not show up at the Church today.

He checked his large dialed watch with the clock on the wall, put down the newspaper, and walked over to the kitchen area. He always had a cup of cocoa at this time. At that moment the old black rotary dial telephone on the desk pierced the silence. He picked up . It was Mrs Christine Smith, Craig’s mother. She sounded very distraught as she began telling Joe how worried she was…