Before You Knew My Name by Jacqueline Bublitz (books to read for teens txt) 📕

way he breathed out slowly when she pointed to the body. Officer Smith had wrapped the blanket around her, squeezed her shoulders, but it was Jennings who looked like he wanted to cry.

‘Hi, Officer Jennings,’ Ruby says finally, willing the flush in her cheeks to settle. ‘I … ah, I was just walking past. And I was wondering if there have been any breakthroughs. Or, you know, leads. In the case.’

While she is talking, Jennings keeps glancing back at the precinct doors, his discomfort clear. He should have made Smith do this part. His partner is far better with the traumatised ones, she somehow knows what to say, how to find the balance between professional distance and small comfort. He clears his throat, wishing he’d paid more attention to how Smith does it.

Mistaking this unease for censure, Ruby’s blush deepens.

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be a bother. I shouldn’t even be here, and I know I have no right to ask questions. It’s just … I can’t seem to stop thinking about her. I’m going a bit crazy, I think.’

At this somewhat alarming admission, Jennings blinks through his nervousness, remembers something from his training, and takes a step closer.

‘It’s okay, Ruby. Did you want to come inside and talk? Maybe you remembered something? Detective O’Byrne is further uptown today, but I could …’

He trails off as Ruby shakes her head, tears pooling, then spilling down her cheeks.

At the sight of her tears, Jennings reaches over and awkwardly pats Ruby’s arm, then coughs. His own cheeks are burning now. Will he ever get used to the crying?

(Think, Jennings, think.)

‘Um. Ruby, I can get you some phone numbers. There are people—experts in this kind of thing—who can help you. It’s pretty normal to feel upset after what you went through. Witnessing a crime can be traumatic, and lots of people say talking about it helps. So, you don’t, you know, get stuck.’

Mortified that she’s crying again, wanting nothing more than to get away from this awkward conversation as quickly as possible, Ruby nods at Jennings’ suggestion, wipes away her tears with the back of her hand. Giving himself a mental tick for getting it right this time, the young officer practically runs across the street, back to the emotional safety of the station. Returning a few minutes later, he hands Ruby three or four glossy pamphlets, and feels even better when she rewards him with a half-smile.

The booklets he has picked for her all have covers showing a diverse cast of characters talking on the phone or walking together, holding hands. Everyone has a smile on their face, despite the words jumping off the paper. Trauma. Victims. Violence. Grief. Is this supposed to be her world, her people, now?

Ruby doesn’t feel like smiling.

Still, the young officer is clearly pleased with himself, and Ruby can only thank him for trying.

‘I’ll have a read over these for sure. To make sure I don’t’—she waves her hand about—‘get stuck. I appreciate this, Officer Jennings. Really. Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it, Ruby. You’ve been through a lot. It’s good to deal, right? And come by if you want to talk some more, okay. You’re welcome any time.’

(An odd closing. More to do with her smile than anything else. They both recognise this, and Jennings has the sense to start backing away.)

‘Officer Jennings!’

He has already crossed the street when Ruby yelps out his name, startling them both.

He stops.

Ruby takes a deep breath.

‘Where is she? Can you tell me where Jane is?’

‘Where Jane is?’ Jennings repeats her question, confused.

‘Yes. I mean, the girl. Jane Doe. Where do you take’—Ruby swallows—‘the bodies you find?’

‘Ah, right. I get you.’ Jennings wonders why he has suddenly started to perspire. ‘She’ll be down on 1st Avenue, I reckon.’

‘First Avenue?’

‘Yeah. At the morgue down there. That’s where she would be. They’ll be hoping to ID her. If no one comes forward to … ah … claim her, they’ll keep her down there for a while, most likely.’

‘And then?’

Ruby needs to know what happens if nobody claims the body.

Jennings rubs the back of his neck, feels a trickle of sweat under his fingertips. He hates thinking about this part. Never gets used to it. The idea of all those cadavers lined up, emptied of organs, lips sewn shut. That ugly ending doesn’t feel right for a girl as lovely as the one they found by the river. He feels a sudden desire to protect Ruby from what he knows. It’s the least he can do for her.

‘You know what, hon? Odds are we’ll find out who she is real soon. It nearly always happens that way, so don’t you worry about it.’

Jennings gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile, and then he is gone, the doors of the precinct closing behind his back, and Ruby is left standing on the street, smiling faces staring up at her from the brochures in her hand. She unfolds the top one, but the print blurs, because she is crying again, fat drops onto the page.

U Ok?

Ash couldn’t even be bothered typing out a full sentence. What room did that leave her to answer? How could she fit in all the things that make her not okay?

She thinks again of the line she has read in so many newspaper reports: Her body was discovered by a jogger.

Why did they never say what happened to the jogger after that?

Someone organises a candlelight vigil in Riverside Park. News of the intended gathering is shared locally, and on Saturday night, four days after the murder, around three hundred people make their way down to the muddy fields near the pier. The mourners are mostly from the neighbourhood, but some women come from across town, from their own dark places, called forth to memorialise one of their ilk, one who didn’t, couldn’t, make it home. The crowd is punctuated by these survivors, their pain red-tipped, fierce, as the faithful from different denominations hold forth, one grasp at comfort after another