One book, one piece of paper.
What is there of the Somerton Man’s possessions that we don’t fully understand? Something that doesn’t have a prime purpose. Pencils write, scissors cut, knives pierce, zinc-foil protects edges and envelopes await their directions. The same can be said for that very small, tightly rolled piece of paper found in his fob pocket. Some argue it was meant to be read.
This is where a boundary line can drawn.
The book it was torn from was found not far from his body. The argument that it was disposed of by the Somerton Man himself must navigate the exposed shoals of what we know. A witness said he appeared too drunk to move at 7:30 pm. The post mortem report said he ate a meal at about 10:30 pm. The doctor said he died an hour or so after midnight.
Failing to survive that fraught passage doesn’t mean the voyage is over, it’s just your ship that’s been holed, and here, someone’s thrown a lifebuoy.
The Tamam Shud slip wasn’t meant to be read, it was meant to be fitted back into the book it was taken from.
A task that could have only been completed by having them both at the same place and at the same time.