Sienna Reed and I decided to start at the bottom, with our “dear friend,” Dr. Art Gustafson, who had pledged to help us with his good pal Dr. Jacobs’s murder. We ushered ourselves into his office to find the good doctor sitting behind his desk, eyebrows furrowed, working on a computer as we entered. He brightened almost as soon as we were in the door, looking up in mild surprise. “Oh, good, you’re here,” he said before I could angrily slap him with our new info, and he beckoned us to sit down in the padded chairs in front of his messy-as-hell desk. Reed and exchanged a look that told each of us that the other planned to take the passive approach in this conversation. It seemed like a smarter move, because we could always switch to the aggressive approach later if we didn’t like what Gustafson had to say. In fact, I was likely to switch to it even if I did like what Gustafson had to say, because, duh, it’s me. I dropped into my chair and draped my arms across the rests, staring at the doctor, who was back to paying attention to his screen.
