She was with two other girls who were expostulating loudly about someone’s odd behavior, but Catherine herself didn’t seem to be listening to them. Although one was blond and the other Indian, all three looked remarkably alike in their tight jeans and hip-length coats. Perhaps it was the healthiness and confidence they exuded. Or maybe the wealth that showed up in little details, like the diamond studs ringing the blonde’s ears and the Indian girl’s cashmere cap and scarf.

“Earth to Catherine,” the Indian girl said. “Aren’t you listening?” Catherine blinked. “Sorry, Alix. I didn’t sleep much last night.” “Jerry?” the blonde grinned suggestively.

Catherine forced a smile. “Yeah. Like Gran wouldn’t lose it completely if he came around on a school night.”

Just as the trio turned south on Astor I stepped in front of them. “Hello, Catherine. V I. Warshawski.”

The three girls froze, alarm bells of what happens when strangers accost you ringing in their heads loudly enough for me to hear. The one who’d mentioned Jerry looked over her shoulder for help.

“We met Sunday night,” I said heartily. “When we both decided to go for a late-night run. You left something of yours with me, remember?” “I’ll get P idgeley,” the blonde turned back to the stairs.

“No, Marissa, it’s okay.” Catherine produced another unconvincing smile. “I forgot. I was jogging at midnight and I ran into this woman.” “Jogging? At midnight? You’ve always said runners were the biggest losers on the planet,” Marissa exclaimed.

“Yeah. It’s just, you know, the SATs, my grandfather’s health, all that stuff, I thought I might work some of it off and I couldn’t exactly go out riding in the middle of the night. Anyway, let me find out what this person wants. She seems to think she’s in charge of the universe.”

“Just a small stretch of Chicagoland,” I said, smiling affably. “Where can we talk privately? Banks Street? Or would you like to come to my office?” “There’s a coffee bar on the corner,” Catherine said.

“Not quiet enough. My office is just a couple of miles west along North Avenue. Or-maybe you’d like to visit the old Graham estate. You choose.” She shot an unhappy look at her friends, at me, at the school, and finally decided we could go to her apartment. Her friends stood uneasily by, clearly wondering whether it was safe to leave her alone with me. Finally, Alix said forcefully that Catherine had her pager number; she should just beep if she needed help.

“We’ll be at Grounds for Delight, like, reading until six or so,” the other girl said. “You can catch us there.”

We walked down the street together, an awkward foursome, until Catherine’s friends turned west at the first cross street. Alix reminded Catherine to beep if she wanted them to call 911.

“I worked for the Bayard Foundation one summer when I was in law school,” I said when we were alone. “Before I joined the sex police, I mean. I am one of your grandfather’s many admirers; I’m sorry if he’s ill.”