Briley hands cash to the parking lot attendant, takes her receipt, then pulls out of the garage and into traffic, careful to avoid the fresh wall of snow piled at the curb. Flurries blow past her windshield, shimmying and dancing to the thump of rap music from a vehicle in the next lane.
She braces her elbow against the door as a traffic light turns red and her car crawls to a halt behind a green Hyundai. At this rate, she’ll never get back to the office before lunch, and she needs at least an hour to review Bystrowski’s file before she heads to the jail. After studying the material and speaking to her client, she ought to be able to formulate a defense strategy.
Though Franklin and others in the firm would probably advise her to delay as much as possible, she can’t help thinking about Erin Tomassi spending the holidays in jail. The “old wine defense”—delaying a case as long as possible—might benefit a defendant who is out on bail. But her present client doesn’t look like the sort who will be able to handle a long stint behind bars. Her fragile demeanor, that porcelain skin…not even the shapeless jail uniform can disguise the fact that Erin Tomassi looks like a pampered princess. And the hardened inmates of the Cook County Jail tend to resent princesses.
Even Briley could find it easy to resent Erin Tomassi. Despite the article that portrayed Erin as a girl from the working class, she obviously traveled an easy road after marrying Jeffrey Tomassi. The newspaper had mentioned two homes, a housekeeper, and a jet-set lifestyle that kept the Tomassis busy flying from one five-star hotel to the next.
Briley can’t remember the last time she stayed in a five-star hotel. And, being single, she’s had to work for almost everything she owns.
A smile crawls to her lips as a voice rises from her memory. “And who crowned you the Queen of Everything?” her father would chide whenever she complained about working around the house. “Get off the couch and help me with the dishes. Then we can sit down and tackle your algebra.”
A car honks, startling her out of her reverie. She steps on the gas and her car lurches forward, carrying her through the intersection and back to her place at the Hyundai’s rear bumper.
No, Erin Tomassi doesn’t look like she grew up scrubbing dishes. She won’t have to work at the Cook County Jail, either, but she might find the routine tedious. No afternoon teas, no formal dances, no shopping trips, unless you count the occasional jaunt to the commissary to buy shampoo and underwear.
Still, Briley can’t help but feel a small stirring of sympathy for her client. She can’t think of anything more horrible than spending the holidays locked up…unless it’s spending Christmas alone in the dorm at boarding school. She’s done that, and she would never want to do it again.
She wouldn’t wish that kind of loneliness on her worst enemy.