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That phone call from [REDACTED] turned my world upside down, chewed it up, then spit it out into one hundred pieces. No one can expect to receive a call like that. Nothing prepares someone for an experience like that. At first, I thought that the lady had a wrong number, so I told her: “Lady you got the wrong number.”… and hanged up the telephone. Subsequently, I returned to the Florida room, where my wife Martha Elena and I were looking at a TV program and enjoying a moment together.
She asked me: “Who was that?” And I answered: “Some hysterical crazy woman yelling: “You fucking child molester, my father is going to kill your mother fucking ass”. As soon as I sat down, the phone began to ring again. I got up, and with some anger I took the call. It was the same voice again. I have never forgotten that voice, full of fury and ire. My first reaction was to tell the lady to stop calling my number; that she had the wrong number.
But then she asked me: “Is your name Frank Fuster?”. When I heard my name, I felt my entire body tensing up. She was calling me “Child Molester”. As her insulting statements came from the receiver, a myriad of emotions hit me simultaneously; bundling with disbelief; immense heartbreak; vile hatred and anger. Who was this woman? What was she talking about? Who was her daughter? How did she obtain my private telephone number and my name? Why was she disrespecting and insulting me that way? What do you say at a moment like that?
I hated child molesters with passion. I felt my face flushed with blood as rage began to take control of my reason and good judgment. When I admitted being Frank Fuster, the lady’s anger escalated and she continued to accuse me of molesting her daughter and continued telling me that her father, a police officer, was going to kill me. The moment came when I couldn’t control my lower unconscious ego self from taking over. She was also making statements that made no sense, telling me: “My child is only nine years old. She looked older because [REDACTED] allowed her to put on some make up for the party. How old you thought she was?”. Out of anger I addressed the ridiculous question with an equally ridiculous reply. I answered: “I thought that she was 26 years old! “.
When I heard the name [REDACTED], immediately my mind began to make connections and I insulted that lady with the most vulgar language that I was able to come up with. I also insulted her father and [REDACTED], calling them very dirty names. In the process I sealed my fate. A very powerful family became my enemies based on a false allegation. I hanged up the telephone. My wife, who had been right next to me asking me to let her talk to the lady, was in shock. I should have allowed my wife to talk to [REDACTED].
Most likely my wife would have been able to appease [REDACTED] and restore some sanity to her mind. I tried to steady myself as the woman’s voice; her threats and her many insults echoed loud in my brain. Her voice and demeanor indicated that she was intoxicated. I felt rage. The mental state of rage is very dangerous, because it depletes the mind of all the analytical abilities. My wife became highly concerned as I began to get dressed up to go to [REDACTED]’s apartment to find out the apartment number of [REDACTED]. I wanted to give her a piece of my mind. Just because her father and her brother were employed as policemen, didn’t give her the right to call my house to insult me.
My wife got dressed up as well. My brother George and his wife Lucy ([REDACTED]’s cousin), whom my wife had called, arrived soon after. We discussed the situation. I had to agree to let them handle the situation, since [REDACTED] and I had had a prior problem and weren’t on friendly terms. Finally, after calming down, we all went to see [REDACTED], who Lucy had already called and was waiting for us. Between tears, [REDACTED] told us everything, but she refused to tell me the number for [REDACTED]’s apartment. Claiming that [REDACTED] was already high in marijuana and drunk. [REDACTED] told us that [REDACTED] was very paranoid and unreasonable; and that she had several weapons that her father and her brother, another police officer, had given her. She offered to talk to [REDACTED] herself, to clarify the misunderstanding.
[REDACTED] didn’t succeed. I never met [REDACTED], never had the opportunity to tell her that I had not touched her child in any sexual manner. However, her daughter told her. Miss R.R. showed her, and the jury, the only two places where my right hand made physical contact with her child body: Her right shoulder and the right side of her waistline. I have spent countless hours asking myself: why did [REDACTED] and her family of law enforcement agents relied on their influence over Janet Reno to convinced her to prosecute me, instead of apologizing to me and to my family, as they were supposed to do? That would have been the logical and the moral reaction. I have never been able to come up with any logical answer.
Also, why Sergeant Raymond Haar had refused to talk with me man to man the two times that I had the manly courage to go in person to see him face to face, to set the record straight, at the Metro Police Department Fifth Precinct? Didn’t he realize that if I had any guilt at all, I wouldn’t have been able to face him and to act as I did? As a high rank law enforcement agent, with many years of experience, didn’t he know that guilt produces fear and that the human brain must project those feelings of fear and guilty? Why did they insist on making a victim out of Miss R.R. and to project me as a sick minded pedophile? Was it because they knew that I wanted to file a lawsuit against them?
TO BE CONTINUED
Frank Fuster.
dissertation andreas berkefeld
Blog #10: A Call from Bonnie Kendall – Free Frank Fuster Free Frank Fuster