Billy Boyle (Billy Boyle World War II, #1)

by James R. Benn

“Weren’t you and he . . . close?” I asked. “All he wanted was sex,” she said disgustedly. “He pretended to be my friend and to comfort me, but all he wanted was to get his hands all over my body.” I had noticed that whenever women talked about some guy getting fresh with them, they would unconsciously put their hands over their breasts in a protective gesture, checking buttons or pulling at something. But Victoria sat there, one leg crossed over the other, with her hands resting flat on the chair arms. Something was really wrong here. “I got the feeling he was devoted to you.” “I thought so, too. But evidently not. Did you come here to ask me about Jens?” “No, no. I’d like to know who or what you might have seen on the way to your room that morning. Anybody or anything out of the ordinary.” “Am I a suspect, Billy?” “Did you kill Knut Birkeland?” I asked. “No.” “Then you’re in the clear. Did you see anything?” “I don’t remember. It was very early and I was tired. Do you like music?” “Yeah, sure, but think back . . .” She got up with a bored look on her face and walked to a record player. “Can you stay for dinner, Billy?” I hadn’t yet thought about dinner, but I got the feeling she wanted me for dessert. “No, I need to get back.” “Back where?” She flipped through a stack of records but settled on the one already on the turntable. “To Beardsley Hall.” “That dreadful place? It’ll be after dark before you get back. Stay here tonight. It’ll be good to have a man around the house...