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other organizations. 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 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 three-wheeler 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 three-wheeler 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 importance of concentrating one hundred percent at all times. Not too much talking. One group was sent up toward 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 still others 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 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 fantasized about finding her dead, about being the center of attention; they fantasized 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 pavement. A few carried backpacks containing flasks. Each and every one of them was eagle-eyed, or they thought so at any rate. Nevertheless, Skarre reminded them of countless searches in the past where people had walked right past the missing person several times. Anders Joner was there. As he had not lived in Glassverket for the last eight years, few people knew him, and he was grateful for the anonymity it gave him. His brothers, Tore and Kristian, were there, too, as was Helga's nephew, Tomme.
    Everyone felt a huge sense of relief when they finally started to walk. One hundred and fifty people dissolved into smaller groups and shuffled out of the school playground. There was a low murmuring of voices. This was a bizarre experience for most of them. Staring into the ground all the time, seeing every straw, every root and twig, every irregularity in the asphalt, the litter along the roadsides, there was so much to see. The group that had been ordered to search along the riverbanks kept looking furtively into the rapidly flowing water. They lifted up bushes and other shrubs with low-hanging branches. They searched holes and caves. And they did find things. A rusty old pram. A decaying rain boot. Along the banks of the river there were mainly empty beer bottles. From time to time the search party would stop for a short break. One of the groups came across a small shed. It was tilting dangerously. It looked as if it might collapse at any moment. A good hiding place, they thought as they stood facing the simple building. Not very far from the road, or the house where Ida lived, either. Instinctively they sniffed the air. A man crouched down and crept through the opening, which consisted of a narrow gap in the