The Search for Rosita: A Joe Kepper Mystery

By John E. Mann

THE SEARCH FOR ROSITA is a fascinating tale about a murder in a plush resort in Arizona that takes Joe Kepper across the Atlantic to three foreign countries to find the elusive Rosita. The novel is a continuation of a short story written by the author five years earlier about an armored truck robbery gone bad. The thieves were caught but the money was never recovered. Rosita is always a step ahead of the law until Kepper, helped by a pretty Dutch free-lance writer and a small town police chief, bring the mystery to a satisfactory conclusion.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Feb 18, 2003
• ISBN: 9781462828623

John E. Mann

John E. Mann is a free-lance writer published in a number of national magazines and newspapers. He has also been honored with several poetic achievement awards. Mr. Mann is a graduate of Park College and holds a Masters Degree from the University of Oklahoma. He has also completed writing courses with Long Ridge Writers Group in West Redding, Connecticut. Mr. Mann is a retired Army officer who has been awarded more than thirty US and foreign decorations. They include The Silver Star, three Legions of Merit, three Bronze Stars and the Distinguished Flying Cross.

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Copyright © 2002 by John E. Mann.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

TO MY WIFE JEAN FOR HER LOVE,

SUPPORT AND ENCOURAGEMENT.

THE PICTURE ON THE COVER OF WALTON HALL WAS TAKEN BY THE AUTHOR IN 1993.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

A special thanks to my writing group—Karen Diegmueller, Sujata Massey, Janice McLane and Marcia Talley, four knowledgeable ladies who were of tremendous help in writing this book.

To Assistant Chief Dana Schmidt of the Sedona Police Department and Captain Mark Etter of the Sedona Fire Department for the background information furnished.

CHAPTER 1

AUGUST 1994

Sweat rolled down the face of Karita Kepper as the warm Arizona sun beamed down upon her bronze body, jogging along the sidewalk on Highway 89 in Sedona. She checked her watch. She had made excellent time, considering some of it was uphill. Karita was nearing the two-and-a-half-mile mark. There, she would turn around and head back to the condo. Her father had measured the route on the rental car’s odometer the day before. Karita wanted to continue running five miles per day, as she had the past ten months, even on her vacation. She’d take a dip in the pool and finish her Marcia Massey mystery novel afterwards. There would be no weights today. The trainer had recommended not more than three times per week. Later in the afternoon, she’d challenge her brother to a game of tennis. After all, he and her dad were riding around on a cart over at Oak Creek Country Club golf course and shouldn’t be too tired.

This had been her physical fitness routine since she was declared fit by the county doctors after her release and the completion of her medical treatment. Her immediate goal was to get her body back in shape physically. The extended stay in the county hospital back in Parksdale, Kansas, was helpful, but it would take considerable physical exercise to get back in the condition she was prior to her hospitalization. Karita had made a remarkable recovery from the attack she had suffered at the hands of a brutal assailant who had attempted to rape her on a local golf course. She had been struck in the head with a golf club and left for dead. If not for a wandering golf course employee who stumbled across her half-naked body, she might have died.

Her speech was slurred at first, and her vision not up to par when she came out of the coma. Within a month after her release, her eyesight was normal and she was back yacking away on the telephone in her usual teenage demeanor. Shortly afterwards, she started on the treadmill, and then she began lifting light weights.

It was so good to see all of her family. Her mom, her brother, and her stepfather, Barry, all had crowded around her. It was as if she were a celebrity. The outpouring of their love spoke volumes of how much they cared about her and how much they wanted her to recover. She learned about the many nights when Barry had to literally tear her mom away from the adjacent room which the hospital had provided for the family so they could sit and observe her and pray for her recovery. Upon receiving the news that his daughter had come out of the coma, her father, Joe Kepper, returned to Parksdale the following day. She had learned from other family members how he had sat and cried, alone in that room, and how he had made daily visits during the period he was in Parksdale. She knew her father was strong willed, and she had never known him to show weakness ever, but to hear that he had sat, cried, and prayed for her recovery made her feel she was someone special. It made her love him all the more.

Karita had been amazed at the amount of flowers sent to her and was told that the small, adjacent room was not big enough to hold them all. There had been a steady stream of them, beginning the day after she was hospitalized. Her schoolmates had set up a schedule so that there had been fresh flowers during the entire time of her hospitalization. They would be kept for three days, and then discarded. Others would take their place. Joe Jr. took pictures at first, but finally gave up after the first two weeks. Her mother had kept all of the cards. Karita read them and asked that they be put away so at some point, she could answer them all personally. Yes, she had been through a lot, but the love shown by her friends was overwhelming and she was grateful and realized how lucky she was.

Not one to listen to music as she jogged, Karita trudged along, deep in thought, mainly about her family and her future. Although her body was in top physical condition, she was still concerned about her mental state. Karita had been seeing a psychiatrist weekly for the first four months after her release from the hospital and still had to see Dr. Chung twice per month. She still had problems visiting golf courses, and had not been on one since her incident. Moreover, she had not touched her golf clubs and had no desire to do so. She had again turned to tennis as her sport and found that she had not completely lost her touch.

The dreams were less frequent now, but she would occasionally awaken, having seen the face of her assailant. Whenever that would happen, she would drift back and remember what a kind and considerate person he was before that dreadful day. He had suddenly become a madman, tearing at her clothes, throwing her to the ground, and ignoring her pleas to stop. As she struggled, she realized that there was no one to help her. If she was going to survive this ordeal, she was going to have to take charge of this situation herself.

The man had caught her off guard. She remembered going over to the rough at the edge of the woods, looking for an errant golf ball, when he came out of the woods, greeted her and offered to help her find her ball. She couldn’t imagine what he had been doing there but was pleased to get his assistance. He said he had seen the ball bounce deeper into the woods and proceeded to go over to the spot where he saw it land. She followed him, looking under brush and dead limbs.

I’ve found it, Karita, he said, pointing to a spot close to a nearby bush. She headed over to where he was standing. There, he pointed, under that log. She bent over, squinting, trying to see the wayward ball. He suddenly put his arm around her, drew her close to him, and told her how attracted he was to her.

Let me go, let me go, she cried. She felt extremely uncomfortable and when she tried to pry herself away from him, he held her closer and attempted to kiss her. His breath was distasteful, and he was wearing some sort of aftershave lotion, which she didn’t like the smell of. Karita struggled as he attempted to force her to the ground, one hand tugging at her breast and tearing her blouse. Her cries were met by deaf ears. This man was hurting her and she had to do something to stop him. She tried to knee him in his most vulnerable spot, but missed. She was taken off balance, and he wrestled her to the ground. Karita could feel a rotten limb from a nearby tree break and penetrate the back of her blouse and cause extreme pain to her back.

The respect she had for the position he held had kept her from fully resisting initially. She could hear him breathing heavily as he tried to hold her down, and his fleshy body told her he was not in the greatest of shape. Karita struck him in the face and as his hand went up to protect himself, she summoned all her strength and shoved him over from on top of her and sprang to her feet. She picked up a golf club and swung it menacingly, holding him at bay.

I’m going to tell the police what you did, she screamed. "Don’t you dare touch me again!

Karita, don’t. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Don’t tell anyone. You’re so beautiful. I just wanted to touch you, to hold you. You fascinate me. I’ve been noticing you for a long time. I love you. I think you’re the most beautiful young woman I’ve ever seen, he said.

The nice compliments and his apparent change of attitude didn’t seem to faze her. She was not going to negotiate with him. She would report him, and she told him so. A moment ago, he was a mad rapist. Now he was pleading like a little boy. This was a man who had the character of a Jekyll and Hyde. He was moving closer to her as he pleaded. Karita took note of this. She began to swing the club faster and more vigorous to keep him away.

She looked at him pleading. He looked so pitiful. Yet she realized if she had not been able to force him from on top of her, he would have raped her.

I’ll lose my job, my family … I’ll be disgraced. Karita, please …

She turned and began to run from the woods. She heard him in hot pursuit behind her. He was running faster than she had expected of a man his age and bulk. As she looked back, she failed to see a tree stump up ahead and stumbled over it. She tried to get up and saw him standing over her. There was something in his hand and he was swinging it at her head. She realized it was the club that had slipped from her hand as she released it in an attempt to break her fall. That was the last thing she remembered prior to coming out of her coma.

Although her parents had extended their thanks earlier, Karita wanted to meet Joel Peagram and thank him personally. He was the young golf course employee who was cutting grass on the Parksdale golf course the day she was attacked, and had found her body. He notified his boss at the clubhouse, who then called the police department and subsequently, an ambulance. Because of her extensive loss of blood, they all thought she was dead. An alert medical technician discovered Karita had a faint heartbeat and she was rushed off to the county hospital, with the ambulance’s sirens blaring.

There was no logical sequence of what had occurred. Even now, situations would slip around in her head, one after another. Karita well remembered the moment when she first snapped out of her coma. First, there were the voices. Everything was dark, but she still heard those voices. Someone was talking about changing bandages and another was saying something about some medication. She heard the rattling of what sounded like paper. Why were they making those noises? She had been sleeping peacefully and these people had awakened her. If she were at home sleeping, why would they be in her room? Then there were the smells. Was it alcohol, or something else? It definitely didn’t smell like her room, or her house, for that matter. Her mother always had the smell of jasmine in the house and she had learned to love it. Her mother’s visiting friends always had something nice to say about the smell of their home.

Sensing a bright light nearby, Karita realized that her eyes were closed. Next, she made out the outline of two figures dressed in white. She needed to find out what was going on. Her head seemed to be aching. She reached up a heavy arm to put her hand on her head and felt something there which she thought was cloth. Her eyes slowly opened and she looked around the room. This wasn’t her room!

«What am I doing here?» she tried to say, but the words seemed stuck down in her throat. What came out seem stuck around her tongue. Her tongue was heavy. She slurred out the words, «Where am I? What am I doing here?» she asked the nurses.

«Karita! You’re awake! Thank God,» one of the nurses said. The other said something Karita didn’t catch, something like «Paging Dr. Levin,» or Levinson or something like that. Several other people entered the room, all a bit excited. She heard the others but still had problems focusing. Things were getting a bit clearer now. A male voice beside her spoke in a very calming tone.

«Karita, my name is Doctor Levin. You are in the county hospital. Can you hear me?»

«Yes,» she heard herself say haltingly. «I can hear you.»

«Tell me what you see,» Dr. Levin said.

«I can see you … and I can see the bright light up in the ceiling … and the nurse beside you … but tell me, what am I doing here?»

«Karita, you’ve had a very bad accident, but you’re going to be okay. We are sending for your family. They will be here shortly, but first, I want to test your memory to see how the accident affected you,» Dr. Levin said. «Can you name your family members?»

«Doctor, I felt some bandages on my head. Can I see myself? Will I look the same?» Karita said, completely ignoring the doctor’s question.

«You’re going to be just fine. Nurse, go get the young lady a mirror, please. In the meantime, can you name your family members?»

«Of course, there’s my mom, her name is Cleo, my stepdad, Barry, my brother, Joe Jr., and my dad, Joe Kepper, who lives in Maryland.»

«Excellent,» Dr. Levin said. «Now, tell me how old you are and the name of your school.»

«I’m fifteen and I attend Parkview Middle School.» When she said the name of her school, something bothered her. She couldn’t figure out why, but something didn’t seem quite right.

«Karita, you’re going to be just fine, provided you survive all of the visitors you’re going to be getting. All five of your senses seem to be functioning fine and all of your other vital organs seem to be working okay as well. Right now, the nurses want to clean you up a bit prior to the arrival of your family. I’m going to let you talk to them for a while, and then I’ll be back for some more testing,» Doctor Levin said.

Karita was now about to enter the heart of town. She only had about another half-mile to go. She glanced around at the nearby mountain range. The setting was magnificent. Whoever decided to start this little town here must have been an environmentalist. The red rock was different from any other place in the world. The tour guide had told them that an inland sea once covered the area thousands of years ago and had a great deal to do with the color definition of the area. The town was named after a woman named Sedona Schnebly, who came to the area in 1902. She had come by train all the way from Missouri to the silver mining town of Jerome to join her husband. The remainder of the trip was made in a horse-drawn wagon. Karita’s dad had promised to take them on a drive over to Jerome later in the week. She soon saw the figure of the old Indian chief standing oh so stately, guarding the main street and the adjacent jewelry and bric-a-brac stores.

Karita turned to head down hill toward the entrance to the Arroyo Sands, their timeshare resort. She passed the little stores that sold red peppers, blankets, and an array of cooking utensils and bottles, and slowed to a walk. The hill was steep and she didn’t want to slip on the dirt and gravel. As she was about to pass the entrance to the office building, a striking blonde woman, dressed in white tennis attire, was on the way out. She stopped to talk.

«Hi. I’m Rose Valesquez. My condo is across the court from you. I see you’ve been out jogging. Do you play tennis? I’m looking for a partner,» the blonde woman said.

«I’m Karita Kepper. I’d love to later this afternoon. Right now, I’m pooped. I must warn you, I’m not very good,» Karita said.

«I’ll bet you’re trying to kid me. Did you bring your racquet?» «Yes, I did.»

«See, I told you you’re trying to kid me. Most people who have their own racquet, or bowling ball or golf clubs play a lot better than they let on.»

«No, really. I just started playing again this year.» She didn’t want to explain further because she would have to get into the fact that golf previously took most of her free time. Then she would have to get into the reasons for not playing golf, and that was something she did not want to discuss with a complete stranger.

«You have lovely skin,» Rose said. «You tan so beautifully.»

«It’s not so much tan as it is natural. I can thank my mom and dad for that.» Karita said, taking note that the woman was just as beautiful close-up as she was at a distance. Rose had a lovely figure, but Karita suspected that her hair was other than blonde. Her mother had once told her about how so many women got their hair color from a bottle. Rose seemed nice, and Karita wasn’t sure whether her brother would want to play with her after spending nearly five hours at the golf course.

I’ll make the reservation and meet you over at the courts at about five, Rose said.

Sounds good to me, Karita concurred. She went inside, grabbed her exercise-suit jacket, her Marcia Massey paperback and a bath towel, and began to cool down.

CHAPTER 2

Joe Kepper was about as relaxed as he had been in months. He was two shots better than anyone else in the foursome, and they were going in on the eighteenth hole. The sky was the bluest of blue: He was surrounded by some of the most gorgeous scenery he had seen anywhere, and his son was driving the golf cart. Who could ask for anything better?

The other members of the foursome were Roy Epps, the Sedona, Arizona assistant chief of police, and Steven Paulsen, from the Attorney General’s office in Phoenix. Kepper learned from Roy that he didn’t get to play at Oak Creek Golf Course that often. His boss was not a golfer, and it seems he always got the job of escorting visitors from Phoenix who played golf. But he didn’t mind because he didn’t have to foot the bill for it. Kepper guessed that he was a ninety-ninety-five shooter. Kepper learned that Roy played courses a bit farther out from Sedona. They were quieter, the pace slower and less expensive. Tourists ran the price up on the Sedona courses and he could ill afford to play them on his salary. Assistant chief was more a title than anything else.

Paulsen was in town to discuss implementing a new criminal tracking system. He could have gone anywhere in the state, but chose Sedona because he had heard that land was considerably cheap in the area and he wanted to select a nice plot near Oak Creek to build a vacation home. He was entranced at what he saw, and recognized the potential of the area as a resort location.

He had heard that some of the big resort companies had their eye on Sedona as a place to build timeshare condos. Kepper hoped that Paulsen’s instincts on property values were better than his golf. Today, if he were lucky, Kepper estimated that Paulsen would finish the eighteen with a score of about one hundred and ten.

Both Epps and Paulsen had tried to quiz Kepper on what his line of work was, but he didn’t elaborate, except to say he worked for a county government in Maryland. The game was close between Kepper and Joe Jr., but old Dad was holding his own today. Kepper enjoyed playing with his son. He had longed for the day that they would play a round as equals, but he realized the time was getting short when he would continue to dominate his son on the course. Joe Jr. was getting older, stronger, and he was on the golf team at school, which meant he got more expert advice, more practice, and, as a member of the team, got to play more. Oh well, he could always get his son to give him strokes when it reached the point where he was a loser too often.

Six months ago, Kepper had been thinking