Blood on the Tracks

This morning. Room 211. The Chelsea Hotel. Elysian Row. <p>A man is lying face up on a red crushed-velvet chaise. His wide-open eyes stare at some unseen spot on the ceiling. He is wearing a pair of tight-fitting jeans scuffed-up Spanish leather boots and a matching Bolero vest. At first glance one might mistake him for a vagabond a vagrant a drifter. He would have liked that. He always thought of himself as a traveling troubadour. But look closer. The lifeless man lying across the chaise is none other than superstar Bob Dorian. <p>He'd been hailed a poet a prophet and the voice of a generation. Dorian never wanted to be any of those things. The most famous rock star in the world always resented the attention. Of course turning up dead attracts the most attention of all. <p>Suspects? Tons of them. They're all characters in Dorian's songs not to mention they all hold a grudge. <p>Intent on finding the killer Dorian's manager Jack Frost teams with Commissioner Tiresias and obituary writer Mister Johns to track down the true culprit and solve the mysterious murder.<p>And the answers they need may just be staring them in the face.