I had Patrick drive us over to the Pacific Dining Car, and Cisco and I ordered steak and eggs while Lorna had tea and honey. The Dining Car was a place where downtown power brokers liked to gather before a day of fighting it out in the glass towers nearby. The food was overpriced but good. It instilled confidence, made the downtown warrior feel like a heavy hitter.

As soon as the waiter took our order and left us, Lorna put her silverware to the side and opened a spiral-bound At-A-Glance calendar on the table.

“Eat fast,” she said. “You have a busy day.”

“Tell me.”

“All right, the easy stuff first.”

She flipped a couple of pages back and forth in the calendar, then proceeded.

“You have a ten a.m. in chambers with Judge Holder. She wants an updated client inventory.”

“She told me I had a week,” I protested. “Today’s Thursday.”

“Yeah, well, Michaela called and said the judge wants an interim update. I think she — the judge, that is — saw in the paper that you are continuing on as Elliot’s lawyer. She’s afraid you’re spending all your time on Elliot and none on the other clients.”

“That’s not true. I filed a motion for Patrick yesterday and Tuesday I took the sentencing on Reese. I mean, I haven’t even met all the clients yet.”

“Don’t worry, I have a hard-copy inventory back at the office for you to take with you. It shows who you’ve met, who you signed up and calendars on all of them. Just hit her with the paperwork and she won’t be able to complain.”

I smiled. Lorna was the best case manager in the business.

“Great. What else?”

“Then at eleven you have an in-chambers with Judge Stanton on Elliot.”

“Status conference?”

“Yes. He wants to know if you are going to be able to go next Thursday.”

“No, but Elliot won’t have it any other way.”

“Well, the judge will get to hear Elliot say that for himself. He’s requiring the defendant’s presence.”

That was unusual. Most status conferences were routine and quick. The fact that Stanton wanted Elliot there bumped this one up into a more important realm.

I thought of something and pulled out my cell phone.

“Did you let Elliot know? He might—”

“Put it away. He knows and he’ll be there. I talked to his assistant — Mrs. Albrecht — this morning and she knows he has to show and that the judge can revoke if he doesn’t.”

I nodded. It was a smart move. Threaten Elliot’s freedom as a means of making sure he shows up.

“Good,” I said. “That it?”

I wanted to get to Cisco to ask what else he had been able to find out about the Vincent investigation and whether his sources had mentioned anything about the man in the surveillance photo Bosch had shown me.