Reid - Maddie Wade Page 0,51

landscape. The green of the fertile verdant green hills contrasted with the turbulent gun-metal blue of the water which surrounded the tiny town of Blönduós.

Blake slammed the door and met him at the front of the vehicle. “This place looks like time stood still.”

Waggs agreed and tipped his chin toward the front of the house where Gunner’s grandmother lived. “Looks quiet.”

Blake nodded. “Let’s go see what Mrs Eivinsdóttir has to say about her grandchildren.”

Waggs stayed slightly behind as Blake took the lead, knocking on the door to the small wood and corrugated metal home.

It took a little while, but eventually, the door opened a crack, and a tiny woman who looked to be somewhere in her seventies, peered back at them. The first thing Waggs noted was the fear in her eyes; the second was how much she resembled Gunner around the eyes.

“Mrs Eivinsdóttir, my name is Blake. I’m a friend of Gunner’s.” Blake spoke in the woman’s native tongue. Her eyes widened before she shook her head and tried to close the door.

Blake blocked it with his foot and wedged his shoulder in the space. “Please, we want to help him and Milla.”

At his words, the woman’s eyes moved from his foot to his face, and he saw the tiny flicker of hope. Blake must have seen it too because he pushed. “We can help you if you talk to us, I promise.”

Several beats passed as the older woman seemed to wage an internal struggle before she relented. With a nod, she pulled the door open and admitted the two of them. Waggs gave her a reassuring smile, not that he was sure it did a lot of good.

He scanned the walls of the home that was filled with pictures of family and saw several images of a girl in a motorised wheelchair with a smiling Elvira Eivinsdóttir behind her. In the photo, the woman looked robust and strong, not like the timid, shrunken woman in front of him now.

“Please sit.” She said in her own language. Waggs only knew a little of the language and was letting Blake lead this one.

The two men sat, on the dainty floral couches, dwarfing the small cosy living room.

“Mrs Eivinsdóttir, can you tell us a bit about Gunner?” Blake began gently.

The woman lifted her head an began to speak.

“In English, please,” Blake said gently.

The woman nodded before dropping her head to centre herself with a breath. The woman lifted watery, aged eyes to them before she started again. “He was a good boy, a kind boy. He wouldn’t hurt a fly. Always smiling and happy. He loved his Milla, and he followed her around like a puppy.”

Waggs smiled at her encouraging her to go on.

“Milla is his sister? Older or younger?” Blake asked.

Elvira, laid her worn, leathered hands in her lap, clenching and unclenching her fists with anxiety. “Older. Milla was seven years older. She and Gunner came to live with me when their parents died in a boating accident when he was three. Milla and Gunner were like twins, always together. They never fought, and she adored him as much as he did her. Then when Milla was sixteen, she had the accident.”

Waggs could almost feel the pain in the room it was so profound, and he braced for what came next.

Blake glanced at him, and he knew he was doing the same thing. “What happened?”

Elvira, took a shuddering breath, before slowly letting it out. “Gunner went out on to the ice. He was a little mischief maker and loved to be outside. He had been told not to, but he was a boy and did not listen. Milla found out and went after him.” Elvira looked at them with guilt. “I do not move as fast as wish, and she got to him before I did. The ice, it was cracking, but she got Gunner to safety, and then it gave way, and my Milla went under the water. Local fishermen got her out, only by then she had been deprived of oxygen for so long that her brain it was damaged in ways it could not be fixed.”

Waggs didn’t need to ask why Gunner had never mentioned Milla to them, because now he knew—guilt.

“I lost both my grandchildren that day. My Milla was broken beyond repair. A beautiful future wiped away.” Her voice cracked a little before she went on. “Gunner was never the same. He lost his best friend, his sister, and the guilt he bore was too