Chapter 11
I had hit rock bottom, battered with self doubts and desperately seeking explanations. But there were none that made any sense. There was no possible reason why I would have taken that backpack from the Seebolds, loaded it with sandbags and a couple of bricks. And where would I have obtained these in the middle of the night? Which meant that if I hadn’t hidden the backpack under the bed, then someone else had. But why? If it was to scare me, then it had the desired effect. And who would have done that? Denning? The real murderer who also stole the gold? Would they have left a bar of the stuff worth around $50,000 in my apartment? No. The only thing that made sense was that I had stolen the gold. But that didn’t explain the backpack.
There was a knock on the door. It was Vera.
