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walks across the open-plan office on her way to see her boss. Anyone glancing up from a computer screen would see only her head above the level of the desks and think perhaps a young child had wandered into the building to visit a parent or sell girl scout cookies.
    Desiree had spent most of her life attempting to grow taller, if not physically then emotionally, socially and professionally. Her mother and father were both short and the genetic numbers had come up on the lowest percentile for their only child. According to her driver’s licence, Desiree was five foot two, but in reality she needed high heels to reach such lofty heights. She wore the same heels through college, almost crippling herself, because she wanted to be taken seriously and to date basketball players. That was another cruel twist of fate, her attraction to tall men – or perhaps she harboured some innate desire to have lanky progeny, dealing her children a different genetic hand. Even now, aged thirty, she still got asked for her ID at bars and restaurants. For most women this might have been flattering but for Desiree it was an ongoing humiliation.
    When she was growing up, her parents would say things like ‘Good things come in small packages’ and ‘People appreciate the little things in life’. These sentiments, however well-meaning, were hard to accept for an adolescent who still shopped for clothes in the kiddie section. At college, where she studied criminology, it had been painfully embarrassing. At the academy it had been mortifying. But Desiree had belied and defied her stature, topping her graduating class at Quantico, proving herself fitter, brighter and more determined than any of the other recruits. Her curse had been her motivation. Her size had made her reach higher.
    Knocking on Eric Warner’s door, she waits for his summons.
    Grizzled and prematurely grey, Warner has been in charge of the Houston office ever since Desiree was posted to her home city six years ago. Of all the powerful men that she’s met, he has genuine authority and charisma, along with a natural easy scowl that makes his smiles look ironically sad, or just sad. He doesn’t make fun of Desiree’s height or treat her differently on account of her gender. People listen to him, not because he shouts but because his whisper begs to be heard.
    ‘The escapee at Three Rivers – it was Audie Palmer,’ says Desiree.
    ‘Who?’
    ‘The armoured truck robbery in Dreyfus County. 2004.’
    ‘The guy who should have ridden the needle?’
    ‘That’s him.’
    ‘When was he due out?’
    ‘Today.’
    The two agents look at each other, thinking the same thing. What sort of moron escapes from prison the day before he’s due to be released?
    ‘He’s one of mine,’ says Desiree. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on the case since Palmer was transferred to Three Rivers for legal reasons.’
    ‘What legal reasons?’
    ‘The new US Attorney was unhappy with the length of the original sentence and wanted him retried.’
    ‘After ten years!’
    ‘Stranger things have happened.’
    Warner rattles a pen between his teeth, holding it like a cigarette. ‘Any sign of the money?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Take a drive. See what the chief warden has to say.’
    An hour later, Desiree is on the Southwest Freeway passing Wharton. The farmland is flat and green, the sky wide and blue. She’s listening to her Spanish language tapes, repeating the phrases.
    ¿Dónde puedo comprar agua?
    ¿Dónde está el baño?
    Her mind drifts to Audie Palmer. She inherited his file from Frank Senogles, another field agent who had moved further up the food chain and was tossing his scraps to Desiree.
    ‘This one is colder than a well digger’s asshole,’ he told her when he handed over his case notes, looking at her breasts instead of her face.
    Cold cases were normally divided up between active agents with newbies getting the oldest and the coldest files. Periodically, Desiree checked for new