All or Nothing Read Online Free PDF

out of her gray flannel skirt and buttoning the jacket discreetly over the white T–shirt she wore underneath. Her hair was pulled severely back in a tortoiseshell clip and she wore little round tortoiseshell Armani glasses––not because she needed them, but because today she was playing the role of the Intellectual Lady Professor. “I have a lecture in two minutes. . . . So, what did Bulworth say?”
    Al grinned. So much for the negligee and painting her nails––Marla was into her private eye role. “Just as we thought. There’s no doubt Laurie Martin was abducted––and very likely killed. And Steve Mallard was probably the last man to see her––though he claims she never showed.
And
he’s Prime Suspect Number One.”
    “He’s either Prime Suspect
or
Number One Suspect, Giraud.” Marla was a stickler for semantics when she was practicing law.
    “Yeah, well, this guy is both. He’s hot––too hot to touch yet. There’s no body, no evidence and therefore no arrest. He’s still at his job in San Diego. Meanwhile his wife and kids are at the family home in Encino.”
    Marla frowned, thinking about it. “I didn’t get bad vibes from him, though, I mean the couple of times we saw him, he looked like a regular guy. . . .”
    “Don’t they all?” Al was wise to the ways of abusers and wife beaters, child–support dodgers and con men. And killers. “Meanwhile, it sure looks as though he was cheating on his wife––and with Laurie.”
    “Mmm, absence doesn’t appear to make the heart grow fonder––at least in this case,” Marla admitted. “But surely he should have the benefit of the doubt.”
    Al shook his head. That was Marla the attorney talking. “He’s getting that benefit right now. Until they find a body, that is.”
    “Or until they find Laurie Martin alive and well and just taking a break in some Mexican resort.”
    Al gave up. “Have it your way, honey.”
    “Meanwhile, what are we gonna do about that poor woman?”
    “Which woman, hon?” Al glanced at his watch. He had an appointment with a client in ten minutes back at his office on Sunset.
    “Vickie Mallard. The wife.”
    “Beats me . . . listen, I’ve got to go. There’s a client waiting. I’ll talk to you later, Marla, okay?”
    “Okay.” Marla checked her own watch. Jeez, she was late too––and those darn kids would never let her forget it. She hurried down the shiny corridor to her class, unaware of the turned heads and admiring grins. Not even tailored gray flannel and glasses could diminish Marla’s sex appeal.
    Nevertheless, her mind was not truly on her class. The unknown Vickie Mallard lingered at the back of her mind like a bump on a log––she just couldn’t stop wondering about her and her children. Was Steve Mallard a philanderer? Maybe. Was he a murderer? Perhaps. But Marla didn’t think so.
    As soon as class was dismissed, she was on the phone to the San Diego Police Department and Detective Bulworth. After a few minutes of schmoozing, she had the number of Steve Mallard’s attorney and she lost no time in getting him on the phone.
    “Mr. Zuckerman is on a call, ma’am. Can he call you back?” The secretary gave her the high–pitched, singsong reply she must give to everyone except important clients, Marla thought, irritated.
    “No, he can’t call me back,” she snapped, “and the name is Cwitowitz.
Ms.
Marla Cwitowitz. Attorney. Tell Zuckerman I’m calling about Steve Mallard.”
    There was stunned silence for a couple of seconds, then a series of clicks, and then Joe Zuckerman got on the line.
    “Ms. Cwitowitz? You want to talk to me about Steve Mallard?”
    “Yeah, it’s about your client. The fact is, Mr. Zuckerman, I saw him. A couple of times. With Laurie Martin.” She heard Zuckerman’s indrawn breath, pictured him as an older guy, gray–haired, an estate lawyer, not a criminal one. Probably a friend of the family who had dealt with their affairs for