Best Friends Forever: A gripping psychological thriller that will have you hooked in 2018

I walked up to the middle-aged woman sitting at the reception desk. She wore a floral dress rather than a police uniform, and her glasses hung around her neck on a beaded cord. There was a small brass dish shaped like a pineapple and filled with candy on her desk.

“How can I help you, dear?” she asked.

“I’m here to see Detective Alex Demer. My name is Alice Campbell,” I said.

“Of course,” she said, smiling up at me. “He’s expecting you.”

I had deliberately not asked for Oliver. I hadn’t liked her, and I hoped she wouldn’t be there for the interview. But then I remembered the whole good cop–bad cop phenomenon. Maybe she’d been purposely rude so I’d open up to the more sympathetic Demer. Or was that just something from the movies?

The receptionist told me to take a seat, but I waited only a few minutes before Detective Demer came out to greet me, holding a paper coffee cup in one hand. His height should have made him imposing, but for some reason, he wasn’t. Perhaps it was his rumpled suit or his ugly tie, or the fact that his eyes looked tired and bloodshot. I wondered if his unkempt appearance was a result of living out of a hotel or if he always looked like this. Did he have a wife at home who did his laundry and picked up his dry cleaning? Or did he live in a bachelor pad with dirty dishes piled in the sink? I glanced at the detective’s left hand. He wasn’t wearing a wedding band.

“Mrs. Campbell, thank you for coming in,” he said, extending the hand that wasn’t holding the coffee cup.

I stood and shook his hand. “Of course.”

“Come on back. I’m working out of the conference room,” he said, nodding toward the hallway he’d just emerged from.

I followed him. The building didn’t look anything like the police stations did on urban cop movies, with the huge cement-floored rooms furnished with rows of industrial desks and perps handcuffed to chairs. Instead it looked like the office of an insurance company, with subdued furnishings and a low-pile beige carpet. We passed a few small offices, most of which were empty. Sergeant Oliver sat in one, and she looked up when we passed.

“Mrs. Campbell is here,” Demer said to her.

“I see that. I’ll be right in,” Oliver replied.

The detective led me to a small conference room and gestured for me to sit at a rectangular table with a shiny cherry finish. Sun was streaming in through two windows, and Demer adjusted the blinds so the light wouldn’t be in my eyes.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” he asked. “Coffee? Although I wouldn’t, if I were you.” He held up his Starbucks cup. “I’m not a coffee snob by any stretch, so you can imagine how bad it would have to be to get me to spend five bucks on this. We also have soda and bottled water.”

“Water would be great,” I answered.

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”

Demer left just as Oliver strode in. She had removed her suit jacket and rolled up the sleeves of her blue oxford button-down. Her face was bare of makeup, and the only jewelry she wore was a pair of small gold hoop earrings. She took a seat across from me, dropping a notebook on the table.

“You took your time getting here,” she said. The bad cop was officially on the scene.

I wondered if she was always this bad-tempered or if there was something about this particular case bothering her. Was it contempt for the extremely wealthy area her department policed? But if so, why choose to work here over a grittier but surely more exciting law enforcement agency, like in West Palm or even Miami? Or did her anger stem from Demer’s presence? Maybe she was angry that he had been brought in from Tallahassee to work on an investigation that she had expected to take the lead on.

I chose not to respond to her comment. Instead I looked back at her steadily, wanting to make it clear early on that I would not be bullied.

“I heard you’re some sort of a writer,” Oliver said, folding her arms over her chest.

I nodded. “I’m the author of a series of books of logic puzzles for children.”

“How’d you come up with that idea?”

“It’s my background. I was an associate professor in the mathematics department at the University of Miami.”

The sergeant’s eyebrows arched.

“But you’re not a professor now?” she asked.

“No.”

“Did you, like, get fired or something?” She gave a contemptuous snort. I knew she was purposely trying to needle me, but I didn’t know why. Either she was just an unpleasant person or she wanted to see how I’d react to her barbs.

I smiled without warmth. “I stopped teaching after my daughter was born.”

“And why was that?” Oliver leaned forward, her elbows braced on the table.

“Personal choice.” There hadn’t actually been much of a choice, but I wasn’t about to get into that now.

The door opened and Demer came in. He glanced from Oliver to me and back again.

“Everything okay in here?”

“Sergeant Oliver has been asking me about my work experience,” I said. “But I assume that’s not what you wanted to talk to me about.”

“No, it’s not,” Demer agreed. He handed me a bottle of water and sat down next to Oliver. The detective placed a folder on the table and flipped it open. “Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to come talk with us.”

“Of course. Although I’m still not sure how I can help you.”

“Why don’t you let us worry about that?” Oliver interjected.

I pressed my lips together and folded my hands in my lap. Demer’s eyes flitted in the direction of his partner. I sensed that he wasn’t on board with her interview technique. Maybe he didn’t like the good cop–bad cop dynamic any more than I did. Or maybe this was part of their act, too.

“As you know, we’re investigating the death of Howard Grant...” Demer began.

I nodded.

“As I’m sure you know, the cause of his death was unusual,” the detective continued. He glanced up at me. “I’m assuming you know how he died.”

“Yes.” I couldn’t help but shiver. “It was pretty awful.”

“How well did you know Mr. Grant?” Demer asked.

I paused, not quite sure how to answer this. I had actually spent very little time with Howard over the years. But Kat had confided so much to me about her husband and their marriage that in some ways I knew him intimately.

“I knew Howard, of course, and we would occasionally be at social events together,” I said carefully. “But Kat was the one I was friends with—is the one I’m friends with. I knew Howard only because he was married to Kat.”

“So you consider yourself and Mr. Grant to be, what—social acquaintances?” Demer asked.

I nodded. “I suppose that’s the best description.”

“Were you ever alone with him?” Demer continued.

“No.” Then I hesitated, realizing this wasn’t quite true. “I mean, there were a few times when I was at their house and Kat would leave the room for one reason or another. But we never spent any significant time alone together.”

“Would you say that Howard Grant was a heavy drinker?” the detective asked.