the things that bug me about this case
Everything about him was relatively expensive.
The clothes in his top-of-the-line leather suitcase were packed ‘neat and tidy’ and those he was wearing were good quality. His shoes were top of the range and beautifully maintained. His shirt was an unblemished white, his tie unstained, he was clean-shaven and had tidy hair.
He had big, clean and un-calloused hands, trimmed fingernails and thighs like Rudolf Nureyev.
He was a very presentable man, a ladies man you could say because only a ladies man carries two combs in his pockets.
But where was his hat? All men wore hats in 1948 just like all men carried handkerchiefs and he had a few of those.
That bugs me.
Another thing. Somebody took the trouble to loot his pockets. They took his wallet and anything else that could identify him, like a ration card or a couple of letters – stuff like that – but they left his bus and train ticket. And why weren’t they with his luggage ticket?
Wherever that went. And for those who still think he ducked off out of the station that morning for a quick shower, shit and shave – where’s the ticket for that?
That too bugs me.
You want more?
What the four word letter word that rhymes with duck was he doing with a spare pair of underdaks and a singlet IN HIS POCKETS? Who does that? A guy who has a hot dinner date in a curryhouse is the only one I can think of and I don’t reckon stolid old Adelaide had many of those back in 1948.
And you have to say, it’s not a good look if he was meeting a lady and hoping for some private shenanigans later in the evening. Everybody knows that in those circumstances all the kit that comes off before goes back on after and I can’t see Handsome Harry here tucking a pair of used Y-fronts and an old singlet into his coat pockets just before he slips out of the hotel door.
Then there’s the weather. November 30th was warm and cloudy, about 72 degrees Fahrenheit – 22.2 Celsius; there were people on the beach strolling about watching the swimmers and here’s our man walking around wearing four layers of clothing on his upper body: a singlet, shirt, pullover and a double-breasted coat.
I know what the beach is like in those conditions and anybody walking around with that much clobber on to keep warm comes from a very hot place a long way away.
That bugs me, big-time.
Teeth. He had eighteen missing and he was built like a wrestler. All the wrestlers I know eat raw steak fifteen meals a week minimum. For this they need plenty of teeth and I’m thinking that tender Wagyu steak was about as rare as Vindaloo Chicken in Adelaide in 1948.
Then there were the toff smokes in his workingman’s pack.
Somebody needs to write a book about all this and get it straightened out, give us all some peace and quiet.
I’ll get out of your way now, I’m getting itchy again.