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“Ula, you haven’t changed.” He hugged her.
“Liar. But I’ll accept your compliment anyway.” She gestured toward the large white booths just off the dance floor. “Have a seat, my friend.”
They sat down, and Lynch motioned around the room. “The place looks good. You’ve remodeled.”
“We must move with the times, no? I only have a few years with each set of customers. Then they get married, buy homes, and have kids. I always have to keep an eye on what the next generation will want.”
“You’ll outlive them all, Ula.”
She cut loose with a high-pitched laugh that was uniquely her own. Lynch tried to imagine the bearer of that laugh ordering brutal revenge killings against rival gangs in Manila. It didn’t fit, but he had no reason to doubt the Justice Department dossiers he’d read about her.
She patted his hand. “It’s good to see you, but I don’t think this is just a social call.”
“You’re right, Ula. I need some information.”
“Ah, I see. Somehow, I don’t think you want to know about the most dependable liquor wholesalers.”
“No. I’m more interested in how one might move contraband to an inmate inside the McArthur Detention Center.”
She raised one of her thin sculpted eyebrows. “And you think I could help you do such a thing?”
“I know you could, Ula. And you know that I know. You have connections everywhere.”
She smiled. “Three questions for you: What do you want to smuggle inside, who do you want to get it to, and how much are you willing to pay?”
“I don’t want to smuggle anything. I’m just looking for some information. How would something get to someone inside?”
She shrugged. “A guard is the easiest way, of course. But unless you know which guards are open to such transactions, it can be tricky. If you happen to pick a Boy Scout, you might find yourself under arrest. Not ideal.”
“I’m guessing you know which guards to approach.”
“Not offhand, but I know people who would.”
“There’s a particular transaction I need to know more about. The FBI is making inquiries, but I’m quite sure no one there will want to talk to them. Where would I start?”
She thought for a moment. “I do know there’s an inmate there who runs things. He’s called Adelmo. Some members of his old gang used to spend time here.”
“I should talk to him.”
She cut loose with that laugh again. “No, not you. Someone he trusts.”
“You?”
“No. But someone I know. Give me some specifics.”
“I need to know who smuggled something to an inmate there. James Michael Barrett.”
Her eyes widened. “The serial killer? The man who blew himself up?”
“Yes. There may be another killer out there, and this might help us find him. We need to talk to whoever smuggled a certain object to him. This person may be able to help identify this second killer.”
“That’s what this is all about?”
“Yes. We’re not looking to jam anybody up for smuggling contraband.”
“What did he have? Narcotics? A cell phone?”
“No. A pair of stolen swim goggles.”
