The Rock Star Mystery

Written by Moe Zilla

Gorg was a rock star.

In the 1970s, he'd toured America, playing sold-out concerts in over 74 cities. Every high school student and college student knew "Gorg and the Rage Tones" -- though the Rage Tones kept changing, because Gorg couldn't get along with anybody.

But that was 30 years ago...

Now our police car rolled down a rainy Hollywood street, heading for the mysterious mansion where Gorg had retired. We'd checked the files, but there was no mention of Gorg -- not even in the newspapers -- for the last 15 years. There were rumors that he'd gone insane. That he'd started seeing ghosts. That he'd lost all his money in a swindle.

And every house on his block had been robbed in the last week.

It was almost 2 a.m., but we'd been on a busy patrol for five hours.

* * *

"Are you sure he's even alive?"

My partner in the patrol car was a rookie named Lenny. "Gorg had one hit single -- in 1972," I answered wearily. "I guess after that, he's entitled to his privacy."

Lenny didn't seem to care much either way. But when we got to Gorg's place, all we saw was an enormous brick wall. We stared silently as Lenny continued driving along the wall, which seemed like it never ended. "I think I saw one of his records at a garage sale Saturday," Lenny said. "He was dressed up like a lizard." Finally we'd pulled up to the gate. Lenny nodded towards a phone box on the gate's right side. "Call Gorg."

I rolled down my window and opened the phone box to pick up the receiver. "L.A. Police Department."

We heard silence. Then static. And then a woman’s voice said, "What took you so long? I called almost an hour ago."

We drove up the driveway, which ended about 30 feet from a huge mansion. It could've been the night, but the mansion looked like it had once been painted purple. On the top floor was a broken window, which had been boarded up, and there were two dead palm trees in front of the house -- and a life-sized statue of a rhinoceros. Unfortunately, there wasn't a walk to the doorway. We found out later that there had been a series of valuable marble stones leading to Gorg's front door -- but he'd pawned them in the 1990s, and now the walk to his front entrance was just a very muddy path which turned our boots a dirty brown.

And then we knocked on the rock star's front door.

* * *

Gorg Brewer held a cup of hot chocolate and cried like a little boy. He'd pressed a buzzer that opened the gate from his house, and now we’re standing in his doorway as a middle-aged woman rubbed Gorg's shoulders. She was skinny and she looked intelligent -- like a librarian -- but Gorg was inconsolable.

"My gold record," Gorg said between tears.

"We know," Lenny said. "You won it in 1972!"

"It's been stolen, you idiot," Gorg snapped. I glared at Lenny. "My wife called you before she told me. I just found out a few seconds ago."

"Was there anyone else here tonight?"

Gorg cried dramatically. His wife, whose name was Tina, patted his shoulders as Gorg shook his head no. Tina said softly, "Just a delivery person." I raised an eyebrow. "We ordered some Chinese food around midnight," Tina explained.

"Midnight?" Lenny said. It seemed a strange time to be eating Chinese food to Lenny -- but Gorg and Tina lived extravagantly.

"We were hungry," Gorg said weakly.

"I guess I must've left the door unlocked," added Tina. Lenny stared intently at the door. His eyes told me he was thinking about the burglar in the neighborhood. Then he asked if they remembered the name of their delivery person.

"Stu something," Gorg said. "He was the only one working tonight. And I once did a record with Stu Cramer, the producer!" Tina rolled her eyes and looked very bored.

I stared suspiciously at the door. It had mysterious wood-carvings on both sides, and the floor around the entrance was spotless. The hallway was filled with exotic plants, paintings on the wall that looked expensive, plus a weird-looking guitar case standing against the wall.

Tina gave us the number of the Chinese restaurant, and Lenny dialed them on his cell phone. "What's the address here again?" he asked. Then we all watched in amazement as he ordered six egg rolls and asked for them to be delivered.

"I'm hungry, too," Lenny said without a smile. He hung up the phone, strolled inside -- without asking -- and glared at the guitar case.

"That's from my first album!" said Gorg. "It's covered with real diamonds! You can see it on the cover of 'Meet the Rage Tones'. I leave the lights on in the hallway so it's always in the spotlight, day or night, and I do the same thing with my gold record in the den."

"Is it insured?" Lenny asked seriously. Gorg said he wasn't sure.

Tina promised us that she was taking good care of their estate, since she was doubling as Gorg's manager now. She even showed us insurance papers for the guitar, the car, the house and the gold record. She insisted that we follow her into her office, a small room that connected to the hallway, but now Lenny looked at her suspiciously. "You know this makes you a suspect, right?" Lenny said seriously. "You better show me where you kept that gold record." Without saying a word, Tina pointed her eyes towards an empty place on the wall.

"No, the room wasn't locked," she said sadly.

"Why don't you tell me what happened tonight?"

Tina sighed sadly. "We'd taken the Chinese food and rushed upstairs so Gorg wouldn't miss the beginning of his favorite movie, 'A Star is Born'. Gorg likes to think he's a big star, just like people from Hollywood." Tina sighed again, with a sad look on her face, and said "I've watched that movie a million times already. Gorg makes me watch it every time it's on the late show." She told us the ordinary details of her life. They'd been married for nearly 30 years, but Gorg always enjoyed the celebrity life more than she did. Soon we heard Gorg's telephone ring. He seemed thrilled that someone had called him, even before he knew who it was.

"When the movie was over, I got a strange feeling that Gorg's own star was fading, so I went into the den to make sure everything was safe, and that's when I saw the empty --"

Just then the doorbell rang.

I stepped into the hallway to watch Gorg answer the door, and then said to Lenny, "Your egg rolls are here." Lenny's eyes lit up, and he rushed towards the door -- towards Stu, the delivery person.

Stu was young, and the rain made his long hair look greasy, especially after tramping down the same muddy path to Gorg's front door. Stu was startled to see a policeman coming towards the door, but Lenny smiled and grabbed for the egg rolls while pulling a wallet out of his pants. Stu relaxed, and I knew that my rookie partner was trying out one of his new investigative techniques, trying to catch Stu off guard!

"Are these good?" Lenny asked. "Lots of people order Chinese food on a Saturday, I bet." Stu laughed, and said he'd been working all night. Lenny gave him a generous tip, and said "I bet you make a lot of money." Stu insisted that wasn't true. Lenny asked if Stu ever saw anything weird in all the rich people's houses. Stu said they were all weird, and we all laughed.

"Any crimes?" Lenny asked playfully -- and suddenly Stu realized he was a suspect.

"I never go inside," Stu said. Lenny looked past him, into the driveway.

"Is that your motorcycle?"

"I've got a license," Stu said defensively. He stared defiantly into Lenny's eyes, saying nothing, and Lenny stared back with an equal intensity. Lenny was the worst detective I'd ever seen.

"Thanks for the egg rolls," Lenny said finally, and closed the door. I looked at him, puzzled. "I just wanted to meet him," Lenny mumbled. "If we need to, we can question him at the station later."

"That's it?" I said with amazement. I'd pulled Lenny aside, and asked "How are we going to solve this if you don't question the suspects."

"I am questioning the suspects," Lenny snapped back. "But for all we know, our thief could just be the neighborhood burglar. The door was unlocked, which means anybody could've waltzed in here." I wasn't even sure Lenny believed that. It seemed more likely he didn't want to admit that his detective skills were shoddy. But I'd worked a lot of cases and knew that the clues always came if you took your time. "For all we know, this batty rock star stole his own gold record to collect on that big insurance policy."

"Do you think he's just pretending to be upset?" Lenny asked.

"Why not?" I answered. "He's used to being dramatic."

We called headquarters and got a profile of the neighborhood burglar. He'd robbed three houses in this neighborhood, and grabbed anything he could lay his hands on that looked expensive. Lenny stared at the hallway as Gorg argued with his wife.

"It seems like everyone's got problems," Lenny said, "whether they're rich or poor."

"But someone's about to have even more problems," I said. "I've figured out who stole Gorg's gold record!"