Cleaners Lorraine and Muriel find Mr. B, face down in a pool of his own blood, making a hell of a mess on the mushroom carpeting.
Wielding squeeges and cleaning contracts our fearless private eyes must find the killer before he, or she, finds them.
“I thought dirt was what you got in the Sunday papers I thought dust was a class A drug, I thought I knew what I was in for but I didn’t have a clue…”
A Paines Plough and Òran Mór production.
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