Free Sly Fox: A Dani Fox Novel by Jeanine Pirro Page A

grip.”
    For a moment, O’Brien didn’t respond, and then he asked, “And tell me, Counselor, who owned that little Saturday night special? The one Carl—excuse me, Detective Carl Jones—allegedly used to hit poor Rudy Hitchins in the head after he was cuffed?”
    “It was his. You took it away from him.”
    In one of the coldest voices that I’ve ever heard, O’Brien said, “That’s right. Don’t you dare tell me how to do my job.”
    Without raising my voice, I replied, “Don’t you tell me how to do my job, either. I’m going to try the assault charge but I’m not going to file these new charges because they aren’t true.”
    “Not true? I know three White Plains police officers who will each testify that Rudy Hitchins attacked first. They’ll also testify that no one put a finger on him after he was handcuffed. Not one finger. You might want to think about that. You also might want to think about whose side you’re on here.”
    It was his final sentence that stung the most. Although O’Brien was twice my age and had years of experience on the street, I was not going to have him lecture me. “I know whose side I’m on. Listen, I became an assistant district attorney to prosecute criminals. I’ll work harder than anyone in this office to get a conviction. But I’m not closing my eyes for you or anyone else just because you’re a cop. I don’t work that way. You give me a good case and I’ll try the hell out of it and protect your back eight days a week. But I don’t go for what I saw yesterday. I don’t lie for anyone. You think I’m giving Rudy Hitchins a pass here but you’re wrong. I’m giving your friend Carl a pass. The real question is why did you put me in this position? Whose side are you on, Detective?”
    O’Brien slammed down the receiver.
    Well, I thought, at least I took Mom’s advice. O’Brien definitely knew how I felt. I’d drawn a line.
    Fifteen minutes later, my phone rang.
    “Hello?”
    “District Attorney Carlton Whitaker III would like to speak to you,” Hillary Potts announced, summoning me to his office.
    As I made my way, I tried to predict what might be happening. I couldn’t imagine O’Brien had stormed over from the White Plains police station in person to complain. First of all, the district attorney would never have met directly with the detective because both of them would have been usurping the bureaucratic chain of command. O’Brien would first need to complain to his direct supervisor, who then would talk to the chief of police, who then would decide if he wanted to complain to the district attorney. The chief and D.A. were bureaucratic equals.
    I wondered if O’Brien had been so angry that he’d orchestrated all this in a mere fifteen minutes.
    A queasy feeling began churning in my stomach. I’m generally not the nervous type but I sensed this was not going to be a pleasant encounter.
    Hillary Potts looked stern, as always, when I arrived. She motioned toward a chair and said, “Let me see if he’s available.” She called him on her intercom and then quietly opened one of the doors for me to enter his office, saying, “The district attorney will see you now.”
    I expected to be greeted by an angry Whitaker, but the D.A. was all smiles when I entered his cavernous chamber. I gave the room a quick once-over, half expecting to see O’Brien and the police chief, but the only other person in the room was Paul Pisani.
    Damn, I thought. Does this guy ever do anything else but hang out in the boss’s office?
    As soon as Miss Potts shut the door behind me, Whitaker said, “Take a seat, Miss Fox, and tell us how the Rudy Hitchins prosecution is going.”
    Was Whitaker playing dumb? If he was, so would I.
    Trying to appear relaxed, I said, “Actually, sir, it’s going really well. I just interviewed Mary Margaret and she’ll make a great witness.”
    “Good, glad to hear it. Now, what the hell is this nonsense about you not filing additional