Death-wish. (1/1)

*'Sarge, you remember that Edwards woman?' W.P.C. Carter asked.     'It'll be a cold day in Hell before I forget her,' said the Desk Sergeant. 'The nastiest suicide I've ever seen. What kind of person handcuffs themselves to the steps at the deep end of their own swimming pool?'     'A rich person?' quipped Carter before returning to her task. 'Anyway, there's a report here that relates to her. Except ...'     'Except what? Don't start what you can't finish, and that includes sentences.' The Sergeant had an aphorism for every situation.     'Well ... you know that vehicular death I queried? The man who'd driven his Volvo into a wood? The reason I asked for details was the trace evidence suggested he'd hit somebody. No victim was found, but Scene of Crime Officer reported it was a person wearing a cotton garment impregnated with chlorine. They found blood, pool-water, and clothing scraps adhering to the car.'     'Did they really?' The Sergeant paused for a second, shook his head, and carried on filling in the Day Book.     'The Edwards woman had cuts on her legs and hands, remember? When we queried them, the pathologist said they were 'inconclusive'. They must have happened post mortem, because they hadn't bled, but there was no evidence of anything in the pool that could have caused them.' W.P.C. Carter wasn't sure where she was going with this conversation. She didn't like anything about it. The Edwards suicide had been a grim business.     They'd been called to the house by a hysterical cleaning woman. Cynthia Edwards had climbed into her pool, cuffed herself to the steps and sat down to die. She'd been a big woman, huge in fact. They'd had to drain the pool to get her out. There was no obvious reason for her to have killed herself. She was rich and solvent, and apparently she'd seemed happy enough recently. Her business as an internet technology consultant was lucrative enough for her purchase a substantial mansion on the outskirts of town. Until around three months ago she'd even been a member of some diet club. She'd recently visited a Harley Street clinic, which refused to disclose anything - except to say the health concern which had brought her to them was a false alarm. She had not been unwell and was not suffering any disease that could have triggered a death-wish.