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it was a new law. Outside of personal vehicles, buses and taxis, bicycles and Segways were the popular mode of transportation, and there was a health club every four blocks for those who had time to run.
    Once she'd found her way onto the wide promenade that framed the Rideau Canal, Jasi had forgotten all about Monty Winkler's corpse and the five circular wounds on his scalp. Ignoring a few catcalls from young men racing down the walkway on their bikes, she'd pushed herself forward. The biting wind made her calf muscles work harder, but the sight of the water calmed her nerves.
    Jasi was a water soul .
    That's what her mother had called her.
    Now, wearing comfortable navy pants, a v-neck sweater and a heavy jacket, she stood along the Ottawa River and let her eyes drift across the shoreline. She should have gone running here. No people to dodge, no waiting for traffic lights to change, no exhaust fumes to gag on.
    She glanced to her right. "I'm ready."
    Dressed in a dove-gray Armani suit, open-collared shirt, no tie, Benjamin Roberts looked out of place as he stood in a grassy area a few feet from the rock-lined shore. Next to him, the stocky silver-haired man in his distinctive red uniform gave her a veiled nod. Constable Finn O'Malley from the RCMP was their liaison on the Winkler case. Thankfully, they'd have no trouble from him. He seemed relieved to hand the case over to the CFBI, probably because he was only a few months to retirement.
    "Thank you for securing the scene," she said to him.
    "If you need anything, let me know," O'Malley replied, his voice gruff. "I'll stay up here."
    "Thank you. I think we're good."
    When O'Malley stepped away, Ben said, "Have you got OxyBlast on hand?"
    "A small canister. But I don't think I'll need it. Police found no traces of a campfire or brushfire." She saw his worried look. "I'll be fine."
    It wasn't difficult for them to find the secondary crime scene. A few yards down the beach, the area where Winkler's body had been found was secured by four perimeter beacons. The heavy neon orange cones were two feet high and resembled traffic pylons. Two of them rested in about four inches of water. Six-foot high screens of orange light connected the high-tech beacons, creating a large rectangular wall of light, to warn away the public.
    The beacons used instant GPS tracking and facial recognition identification. If anyone tried to move them, enter the wrong code, or if a screen was broken by anything bigger than a sparrow, the beacon would lock onto the person's face and track them anywhere. It also emitted an ear-piercing alarm that would drive even the most resilient criminal to his or her knees.
    There was some controversy over this, just as there had been over the use of police Tasers a few years ago, and certain activists felt it would be better to let someone corrupt a crime screen rather than to risk a city lawsuit for hearing impairment.
    Three officers from OPS stood at various positions on the beach. They had thoughtfully cordoned off the area surrounding the beacons, just in case some idiot couldn't see the bright orange light. In the daylight, the light was more yellow than orange, but it was still hard to miss.
    Jasi moved toward the bushes, followed closely by Ben.
    A thorough search uncovered nothing but a few trampled patches of grass and broken branches.
    "Probably from investigators," she said.
    "Or curious onlookers," Ben added.
    The wind and rain had swept away any footprints, and there were no drag marks, nothing to indicate that Winkler had been carried to the shore and dumped.
    On the beach Jasi stepped over the rope, then moved to one of the perimeter beacons. She pulled out her data-com, retrieved the code and entered it on the beacon's panel. The light screens retracted and she clipped her 'com to her jacket pocket. She didn't expect to have anything to report, but better to be safe than sorry.
    "You ready?" Ben asked.
    She nodded. "Voice record on."
    She gave a brief