Some practical ones: was she associated with such and such hostage-takings and maritime disasters and exchanges with various authorities. 

Did she know about the escape of her confederates? Why didn't they come for her?

Who was paying them? Is she safe here from whoever was paying them? 

Where's the treasure?

"Okay. Discern Lies et al aren't in my book, obviously, but I can, like, take notes on whether she's spouting obvious bullshit."

"Yeah. We can check up on a lot of her answers, if she'll give us anything at all."

"Cool. I'll meet you back here when I'm done, I suppose." She salutes and walks up to the door. Knock knock.

A woman in priests' robes with a very severe bun and an aggressively ugly hatpin for wisdom opens the door. "It's not visiting hours for three more minutes," she says disapprovingly.

"It's not? Oh no, perhaps I need to buy a watch. I can wait."

She closes the door. 

Three minutes later, the bell chimes.

Knock knock.

Same woman. "Welcome to Saint Hadassah's," she says stiffly. "You're visiting?"

"Yes, I'd like to speak to Abada, the erstwhile Dread Dagger."

She raises an eyebrow half an inch. "I will see if she's available."

"Thank you."

She returns a minute later. "She will see you. The visiting booths are this way."

"Are visits supervised?"

"Do you want to be supervised?"

"Not at all."

"Then you needn't. Call for help if there's any trouble, some of our residents have violent histories."

"I understand."

She sits in the booth.

The girl walks in. She has black hair, cut short, and some scars on her face that she must have kept deliberately; she's thin and kind of short and scowling. 

"Well?"

"Hey. Your buddies all got busted out, did you know?"

Blink. " - sure."

"You get news here or you saw it coming?"

"Not a lotta news here."

"Why'd they leave you behind?"

"Maybe this place has more security."