Free Can Anybody Help Me? by Sinéad Crowley

it tough enough with one!
    FarmersWife
    Thanks LM. Yeah it’ll be mental but I wouldn’t swop it for the world … listen to me, must be the hormones talking *LOL*
    NAPPY BIN INSERTS?
    Qwerty
    Hey ladies, sooo annoyed. Just found out the nappy bin bought has been discontinued and you can’t get inserts for it anywhere. Grrr. I don’t want to buy a new bin. Anyone know where I could buy a few ‘Waste-Away’ inserts? Online even?
    CaraMia
    Where abouts are you? I’m in Dublin, southside, and my local chemist usually has a good few different brands.
    MrsDrac
    Oh thanks Cara, I’m actually in Meath but DH works in Dublin so he’s up and down every day. I’d probably have to draw him a diagram though to pick the right one!
    MeredithGrey
    I have a box of them left, DS is toilet trained now and we don’t need them. I can send them onto you if you like?
    MrsDrac
    Ah Meredith, that’s really sweet of you! Are you sure you don’t mind!
    MeredithGrey
    Not at all. Just PM me your address and I’ll send them on.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN
    They had been gone for less than three hours, but Claire could feel the change in atmosphere as soon as she got back to the station. It was going to be one of those cases. Murders were far from unusual in Dublin, but most were related to drugs, crime or what the media loved to call ‘gangland activities’. The discovery of an unidentified body, particularly a woman’s body, in a place like Merview was still rare enough to get even the more blasé members of An Garda Síochána talking. And a good thing too, she thought to herself as her mind replayed images from the apartment. It wouldn’t be pleasant to live in a world where that was taken for granted.
    So the head swivels she and Flynn encountered when they got back to base were to be expected. Particularly when the others noticed they’d brought a passenger. But she avoided catching anyone’s eye as she ushered the young estate agent through the main office and down the corridor that led to the station’s interview rooms.
    Number 3 was free. Not that there was anything to differentiate it from the other two. Collins Street Garda station had been built in the 1950s by an architect who seemed to have studied social housing in Russia. Before perestroika. Theinterview rooms were small, windowless and painted a grim shade of cream. The smoking ban meant that the air was slightly less stale these days, but traces of nicotine staining remained on the ceiling and the walls. The bare light bulb would have been familiar to viewers of crime dramas, and the much-abused furniture was perfectly in tune with the ambience of the room.
    Claire closed the door and watched as Cormac Berry folded himself into one of two metal chairs that stood either side of a scuffed melamine table. The seats themselves were rock hard, designed to keep arses uncomfortable and their owners awake. She lowered herself down into her own chair and waited for the ache in her back to subside. Flynn, who had walked in behind them said nothing, but stood by the door, his eyes fixed on the grimy wall.
    Claire took out her notebook and pen. The session would be videotaped, but she was a longhand woman at heart. The electronics were useful. But sometimes it was only when she read back information in her own handwriting, with her own scribbles reminding her of tone or emphasis that its importance became clear. Even the seemingly innocuous stuff could turn out to be useful later on.
    Besides, it gave her something to do with her hands.
    She uncapped her pen and smiled at Berry.
    â€˜Now. We’ll try and keep this as straightforward as possible.’
    The young man blinked again, a tic Claire was finding increasingly irritating, and tugged at his jacket.
    â€˜Do I, like, need a lawyer?’
    Oh, here we go. The battle hymn of a generation reared on US cop shows. God be with the days when people