The interrogation room was smaller than Annah had imagined. Windowless. Silent except for the faint hum of a ceiling bulb that flickered like it hadn't decided whether to stay alive or give up. A camera in the corner blinked red, recording everything.
Annah Mwende sat with her arms folded tightly across her chest, eyes fixed on the table's scratched surface. The metal was cold, but not colder than the woman seated across from her.
Detective Stella Njoroge was the kind of person who didn't raise her voice to command a room. She didn't need to. Her silence worked like a rope, tightening by the minute.
"Thank you for coming in," Stella said finally, her voice even, betraying nothing.
Annah didn't look up. "I didn't have much of a choice, did I?"
Stella smiled faintly, a controlled gesture. "You always have a choice. Though when someone dies at your workplace, it's hard not to have questions."
Annah said nothing.
"Especially when it's someone like Mr. Mbithi."
The name sent a quiet tremor through her spine, but she didn't let it show. She had rehearsed this. She had prepared. She lifted her chin slightly. "I didn't know him that well.I just liked to listen to him during my night shifs."
Stella tilted her head. "Strange. He told another nurse he often had tea with you in the evenings. Said you were a 'good listener.' Would you say that's true?"
Annah's jaw clenched. "I try to be kind. That's all."
"Mmm." The detective leaned back slightly, studying her with the eyes of someone who enjoyed reading people like unfinished puzzles. "He also mentioned he saw something the night Lucy Mumo disappeared."
There it was. The tremor again. This time, it reached her fingertips.
Stella's tone softened. "That name rings a bell, doesn't it?"
"She was my sister," Annah said, the words small but sharp.
"I'm sorry for your loss."
Annah didn't respond.
"The case is still open," Stella went on. "Nobody was arrested. No closure. But Mr. Mbithi said he saw her being dragged toward the west wing exit. He was afraid to report it at first."
Annah's fingers twitched against the table. She could see Lucy's face in her mind—alive, afraid, fading. "Fear makes people delay justice," she murmured.
Stella nodded slowly. "So do lies."
Annah looked up, her eyes darker now. "You think he was lying?"
"I think people tell stories for all sorts of reasons. Guilt. Shame. Some want to feel useful again before they die."
"Or before someone makes sure they do," Annah whispered.
There was silence. It stretched long between them, tension curling like smoke in the corners.
"Tell me about the night he died," Stella said eventually. "You were on shift?"
Annah exhaled. "Evening shift. Pediatrics."
"But you clocked out late. 1:42 a.m., according to hospital security footage. Mr. Mbithi's body was found just a few hours later in an area with no cameras. Convenient, don't you think?"
"We all know that side," Annah said quietly. "It's a hospital."
Stella leaned forward, voice cool. "His autopsy revealed lorazepam in his system. High dose. Not prescribed."
Annah said nothing.
"Easy to access if you're a nurse."
A pause.
"Are you accusing me of something?"
"I'm asking questions," Stella replied. "Where were you at 1:30am that night?"
"The break room. Alone.I was about to head home at that time."
"Was Mr. Mbithi with you?"
"No.After the tea,I left.He was alive when I left."
Stella pursed her lips. "We found a flask. His tea had sedatives. He trusted you enough to drink whatever you handed him. But he never made it home."
The silence came again. Thicker this time. Annah's pulse thudded in her ears. Her stomach turned, but she kept her face still.
"Do you believe in justice, Detective?" she asked finally.
Stella blinked at the question. "More than I believe in most things."
"Even if it doesn't come through you?"
Stella studied her. "Are you confessing?"
Annah looked her straight in the eye. "No. I'm just wondering what you'd do if someone took your sister. If they left her to die in the dark and no one did anything. Not even the people who could have."
Stella sat back slowly. "I'd want revenge. But I wouldn't call it justice."
"Then maybe you don't believe in it after all."
Stella opened a file on the table, slid a sheet of paper across to Annah. "This was written by Mr. Mbithi. Day before he died."
She read it aloud:
I saw what happened to Lucy Mumo. They pulled her into the supply hall near the west exit. I told Annah later. She asked me not to tell anyone. Said it would cause panic.
Annah's fingers trembled.
"Why would you ask him to stay quiet?" Stella asked.
Annah's voice was barely a whisper. "Because no one cared. Not the administration. Not the police. Not the patients. Not even him. Until it started eating at him from the inside."
Stella's tone shifted, careful now. "So you punished him?"
Annah's eyes glistened. "He punished himself."
Stella let the words settle like dust. Then she pulled another paper from the file—this one marked confidential.
"Dr. Kariuki says you're volatile. That you've had episodes. Rage. Blackouts. Memory issues."
How did she know the doctor?How much does this detective know?
"I'm not crazy," Annah snapped.
"No one said you were. But grief breaks people in different ways. Sometimes it builds monsters out of ordinary girls."
Annah flinched.
Stella stood slowly, walking behind her. The detective's voice dropped to a whisper.
"You're not a monster, Annah. But you made a choice. One that can't be undone."
Annah's body was rigid now. Her breath came in shallow waves.
"If you want to arrest me," she said, her voice barely holding, "do it."
"Not today."
Stella walked back to the door, hand on the knob. She turned one last time, her gaze soft.
"When Lucy screamed, no one helped her," she said. "You became the scream, didn't you?"
Annah didn't respond. But her eyes followed Stella as the detective stepped out of the room.
They weren't done. Not yet.