I hung up and dialed the Windy City Balletworks to see if they were performing tonight. A recorded voice told me that performances were held Wednesday through Saturday at eight; Sundays at three. Today was Tuesday; Paige might be home.

Ferrant looked at me courteously. “Something wrong?”

I made a gesture of distaste. “Nothing I hadn’t suspected since this morning. But it’s upsetting anyway—Grafalk owns real estate along with everything else.”

“You know, Miss War—Do you have a first name? I just can’t keep my tongue around your last one—Vic, you’re being terribly mysterious. I take it you think Grafalk may be behind the damage to the Poe Lock, since we just spent most of the afternoon proving that he was losing money. Would you mind telling me what’s going on?”

“Some other time. There’s someone I need to talk to tonight. I’m sorry, I know it’s rude to run out on you like this, but I must see her.”

“Where are you going?” Ferrant asked.

“To the Gold Coast.”

He announced that he was coming with me. I shrugged and headed for the door. Ferrant tried putting some money on the table, but Sal gave it back to him. “Vic’ll pay me when she’s got the money,” she said.

I flagged a taxi on Dearborn. Ferrant got in beside me, again demanding to know what was going on.

“I’ll tell you later,” I said. “It’s too long a story to start during a short cab ride.”

We pulled up in front of a massive pale pink brick building with white concrete corners and white-enameled shutters. It was dark now, but black wrought-iron street lamps illuminated the building’s facade.

Ferrant offered to accompany me inside, but I told him this was a job I had to handle alone. He watched me as I rang the bell, set in a lighted brass box outside the front door. A house phone was nestled inside the box for communicating with the inmates. When Paige’s voice came tinnily through the receiver, I pitched my voice high and told her it was Jeannine. She buzzed me in.

The stairs were carpeted in a rose-patterned blue rug. My tired feet sank gratefully into the pile. Paige was waiting for me in the doorway at the top of the stairs, wearing her white terry cloth robe, her face not made up, her hair pulled back under a towel as I’d seen her after rehearsal.

“What brings you into the city, Jeannie?” she was saying as my head came in sight. The rest of her sentence died in her throat. She stood immobile with surprise for a second too long. I reached the door as she started to slam it and pushed my way inside.

“We’re going to talk, Paige. A little heart-to-heart.”