Detective Stella Njoroge hated hospitals.
Not because of the smell of disinfectant that clung to the corridors, or the bleak lighting that flickered no matter how new the bulbs were. Not even the faces...those hollow-eyed stares of families hoping for miracles or preparing for goodbyes.
She hated them because of the silence.
It was never real. Beneath it, something always churned,secrets whispered between orderly footsteps and patient sobs. It was that kind of silence she walked through now, her leather shoes tapping against the linoleum of Chakava District Hospital, the same place Lucy Mumo was last seen alive.
And the same place where Mr. Mbithi, one of its residents, drowned in his own silence.
Stella's gaze swept the corridor. Clean. Too clean.
A nurse in a blue coat passed her, offering a tight smile.
"Detective Njoroge," came a familiar voice.
Stella turned. Chief Administrator Peter Muli extended a clammy hand and a practiced smile. "Back again?"
"I like repetition," she said dryly, taking his hand. "Helps me notice what's missing."
Muli's smile faltered. "Still investigating Mbithi?"
"And Lucy Mumo."
"That matter was...."
"Never closed." She walked past him. "I'm here to speak to Kevin Langat."
Muli stiffened. "Kevin? He's been on leave since last month."
Stella turned slowly. "Since when?"
"Early April. Family emergency."
"And you didn't think to mention that during our last conversation?"
He cleared his throat. "You asked about Lucy, not Kevin."
Stella stepped closer. "She disappeared from this building. You expect me to ignore who had access to the same wing she was last seen in?"
Muli's eyes darted sideways. "Kevin is a good boy. Quiet. Hardworking."
"Quiet men often are."
He swallowed. "He'll be back next week. You can speak with him then."
Stella stared at him for a moment. "Where's his locker?"
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I want to see his locker."
"That's highly irregular..."
"So is a nurse vanishing , and an elderly staff dying later in suspicious silence." She tilted her head. "You want irregular, Muli? I'll give you a search warrant."
Muli hesitated, then sighed. "This way."
The staff locker room was behind the west wing, in a corridor that felt colder than the rest of the hospital. The walls were different here,unpainted cement, unadorned, forgotten. The hum of the building's machinery grew louder. This was the part of the hospital no one showed visitors.
Muli handed her a ring of keys. "Third on the left."
She walked to it, the key sliding in with a soft click.
Kevin's locker was neat,almost too neat. A pair of folded scrubs, a sealed water bottle, a small tin of Vicks. But tucked between the fabric, something jutted out.
Stella pulled it free. A journal.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't Kevin's handwriting.
It was Lucy's.
The first page bore her name. Lucy M. Mwende. A small heart beside it.
She flipped through quickly...nurses' notes, night shift observations, tiny scribbles about patients.
Then,one page made her stop.
> "Kevin was in the west wing again. Said he forgot his phone. But I heard someone cry out. I followed the sound, and he told me to go back. Said it was 'none of my concern.' I don't trust him."
Another entry, dated days before her disappearance:
> "He watches. Kevin watches everything. But I think he tells someone else. I hear doors closing after he walks away. I think he's giving someone access."
Stella's fingers trembled.
She shut the journal.
"Chief Muli," she said quietly, "Did Kevin ever work alone?"
He blinked. "Sometimes,on overnight rotation. We had a shortage."
"And who had keys to the west wing?"
"Only security and the night shift. Why?"
Stella turned. "Get me security footage for the month before Lucy disappeared. And find me every staff member who worked with Kevin in the two weeks leading up to that night."
"But...."
"Now."
Back in her car, Stella flipped open her notes. She wrote down three names from the hospital's night shift: Kevin Langat, Benson Kimathi, and Peter Wendo, a janitor with no digital record before 2020.
Peter Wendo. That name had surfaced before...once, mentioned in a staff complaint about a "creepy cleaner." No one followed up.
Stella tapped her pen.
A predator in plain sight needs a shield. Kevin was the shield.
She reached for her phone and dialed.
"Lina Wanja?" she said when the call picked up.
"Yes?"
"This is Detective Njoroge. I need to ask you something,off the record."
A pause.
"Okay."
"Did Lucy ever mention someone making her feel unsafe here?"
More silence.
Then, quietly, "Yes. Kevin. She said he was quiet, but always near."
"Did she name anyone else?"
"She thought he was covering for someone, but she didn't know who."
Stella nodded. "One more question. Was Annah aware?"
Lina sighed. "She knew. I think that's why she's falling apart."
That evening, Stella stood outside her apartment window, watching the sky turn orange with Nairobi dusk.
Lucy had cried for help, and no one came.
Now Annah Mwende was unraveling, hallucinating, grieving and maybe hiding more than grief.
But there was something else, something not quite fitting.
Stella returned to the journal and found a ripped page. Carefully, she peeled the next one back,and her blood chilled.
It was a sketch.
Crude. Rushed.
It showed a door.
The west wing supply closet.
And someone standing inside it.
The face had no features. Just eyes. Hollow. Watching.
What exactly happened in the west wing that day five years ago?