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led by professionals and the volunteers will be told precisely how and where to look.’
    ‘What about the river?’ Joner said apprehen sively. He did not like to say it out loud.
    ‘Of course we need to think about dragging it,’
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    Sejer said. ‘However, in the first instance we need to carry out a search of the immediate area, and our people will visit every single house along the road to Laila’s Kiosk as well.’
    ‘I want to join in the search,’ Joner said.
    ‘We’ll let you know later about a meeting place,’
    Sejer said. ‘We’ll probably use the school play ground. Please look after Helga until then.’
    Joner saw them out. He stayed standing on the steps watching them. Gripped the railings and leant forward. His eyes sought the horizon; Ida was out there. ‘She’s been gone seventeen hours,’ he groaned. ‘It’s too late and you know it!’
    He buried his head in his hands and stood there shaking. Sejer went back up to him. He grabbed Joner’s arm and squeezed it hard. There was nothing else he could do. Then he returned to the car. It felt like he was turning his back on a drowning man.
    A large group of volunteers had gathered in the playground of Glassverket school. A whole night had passed and the seriousness of the situation was clear to see from every face. It was still raining, but more softly now. The search party was made up of volunteers from the Red Cross, the Home Guard, teachers and pupils from the school, people from the sports club and a range of other organisations. Plus a few people who happened to have heard the police request for volunteers. They had simply left their homes and gone out in the rain in order to 39
    help. There were many young people; however, the significant majority were men and older boys. Some smaller kids had turned up but were sent home again. Emil Johannes had noticed the large gathering of people, and he parked his green threewheeler behind the bicycle shed, where he could observe them from a safe distance. No one thought of asking if he wanted to join in. Not that he wanted to anyway. He watched the dogs on leashes that a few people had brought along. If one of the dogs were to tear itself loose, he would start his threewheeler as quickly as possible and drive off. He did not like dogs.
    The search party examined maps and listened to instructions from the police about how to move around the terrain. How closely together they needed to walk, how to use their eyes. The impor tance of concentrating one hundred per cent at all times. Not too much talking. One group was sent up towards the waterfall, another group ordered down to search along the banks of the river. Some were sent out across the fields, others into the woods and others again up to the ridge behind Glassverket.
    Jacob Skarre gave them their final instructions.
    ‘Remember, Ida’s tiny,’ he said. ‘She doesn’t take up much room.’
    They nodded earnestly. Skarre looked at them pensively. He knew a fair bit about what they were thinking. Volunteers had multiple and often contradictory motives. Some had turned up out of 40
    desperation, because they were fathers themselves and could not bear to sit idly in front of the television. Some had come looking for excitement, each one hoping that he would be the one to find Ida. They fantasised about finding her dead, about being the centre of attention; they fantasised about being the one who would find her safe and well, who would call out the good news and have everyone looking at them. Perhaps lift her up and carry her in their arms. They were also scared, as very few of them had ever seen a dead body and the vast majority were secretly convinced that Ida was dead. These lurid private thoughts troubled them, so they stood there kicking the tarmac. A few carried rucksacks containing flasks. Each and every one of them was eagle-eyed, or they thought so at any rate. Never
    theless, Skarre reminded them of
    countless searches in the past where