Identity theft causes ordeal for reporter

Returning from our honeymoon in Mexico, my new husband Billy and I got off the plane in Nashville and walked towards customs. I was a little worried about a few bottles of habanero hot sauce I had bought for my dad.

We showed our driver's license and birth certificates and were then asked the normal questions regarding our trip. A police woman approached me and asked me to step into another room. Confused, I followed her into a room already occupied by more police officers.

That is when the nightmare began. They began interrogating me. "Ms. Green, how tall are you? What is your date of birth? Your Social Security number?"

Going through my purse, the female officer sarcastically commented that I had a lot of prescriptions and I agreed, "I have a lot of problems."

"Ms. Green, we have two warrants for your arrest out of Ohio. We have no choice but to hold you for the Ohio authorities."

It hit me like a ton of bricks.

I began to explain to the officers that several years ago a relative had stolen my identity. She had walked into the Rutherford County Department of Motor Vehicle, told them she had lost her license, gave them my name and date of birth, and walked out with my identical driver's license with her picture instead of mine.

It had taken me a year to get my credit straightened out with the help of a kind Rutherford County detective whose name I have since forgotten.

I concluded by telling them I had never been to Ohio.

They explained that they could not just take my word for it, then chastised me for not pressing charges if that were true so that I would have documentation to prove my story, and again repeated they would have to hold me for the Ohio authorities.

I was led from the room where I saw more officers cross-examining my husband while thoroughly inspecting every article contained in our baggage. They especially liked our small bottles of shells and "ocean water" asking arrogantly if we had been to a pharmacy in Mexico.

They then handcuffed my hands behind my back and led me out of the airport into a waiting patrol car. The first ride was short but uncomfortable. I began to cry.

Sitting in a small office while the officers wrote their report, tears streamed down my face as I choked out answers to even more questions. What was happening to me?

I didn't understand why a quick phone call couldn't be made to the Rutherford County detectives who had notified me eight years ago regarding the situation. They had shown up at my work with a blown up picture of the phony driver's license and pictures of my relative in line at a bank to see if I could identify her. I did. Shouldn't they still have that information?

The kind detective mentioned earlier had sent a few people affidavits stating that I was not the person indebted to them. Shouldn't something as legal as an affidavit still be on file somewhere? Why couldn't the police communicate with other police rather than torment an innocent person?

I asked the officers as much and did not get much more than a smirk.

Back into the police car, I was driven downtown to the metropolitan police department where I was escorted in front of a commissioner. On the other side of the glass I could see my husband. He spoke to the commissioner from one side and I from another. She appeared to appreciate the fact that I was innocent but the three people in front of me had claimed innocence also.

My husband explained he needed the car keys out of my purse and she allowed the police to get the keys for him.

Billy asked the commissioner what my bond would be. She replied, "$350,000." I gathered by the look on my husband's face we were in trouble. She also mentioned that it was so high because they considered me a fugitive because I had been in Mexico.

Billy left to begin looking for help and to reach my family.

My handcuffs finally removed, I posed for my front and side view mug shot and ran each finger across a digital fingerprinting computer.

I then was given an identification card with my new picture and told to keep it at all times. I had been given an inmate number.

My next wait was with about 12 other women in a small blocked cell with only concrete benches to sit on -- not nearly enough room for all of us and since a few laid down, even less room. At least I finally was able to make a phone call.

My sister answered my mom's phone. "Are you okay?"

I wasn't okay at all. I then spoke to Mom who assured me they were doing everything they could do to get me out of there and added, "Keep your head up."

I hung up crying but leaving my fate in the hands of my loved ones.

Basically, I kept to myself in the holding cell, afraid to speak to the women surrounding me. When they spoke to me, I replied, trying not to make anyone angry. Someone could have been killed in that cell and the police would have never known unless there was a camera somewhere I hadn't seen, and supposing someone was actually watching it.

I listened to their stories about being caught with suspended licenses, drugs and even of kidnapping. Two of the women commented to me they liked my wedding ring and an amber ring I just purchased in Mexico. I thanked them and decided it might be best to keep my hands hidden.

The cell was nasty and a commode was in full view for anyone who needed it. I tried my best not to need it.

Eventually, a brown paper bag was thrown at me by a guard who had stuck his head in through the cell door. "What's this?" I asked.

"It's a happy meal!" he snarled.

It was a bologna sandwich and a squashed piece of cake. I couldn't eat. The other girls were ravenous, however. I gave them mine.

A guard called my name and I followed him out of the cell. He pointed me down the hall to a nurse who asked me my medical history and what prescriptions I was taking. I began with my high blood pressure, scoliosis, right leg shorter than the left, and more. She took my blood pressure and told me she would have me see the doctor.

But I was returned to the holding cell where a Mexican lady was screaming on the phone to her husband. Another lady was accusing the kidnapping lady of lying. My nerves were raw. I was scared.

I still had my watch and everyone kept asking me what time it was. Periodically, a guard would come and call a name and tell the person, "You're going home." I kept praying my name would be called.

Around 6:30 p.m. we were all escorted out of the holding cell into another holding cell and told "you can lie down now." This holding cell had no concrete bench but blue mats thrown all over the floor.

Like the ladies taking up more room in the first cell, some ladies laid on two mats and covered themselves with another. Again, I was too scared to ask for a mat from another inmate. I had to stand because the floor and walls appeared filthier than the first cell.

Another call to my family resulted in no new news, which was bad news in my case. They told me to call back in an hour and, hopefully, they would know more.

Before an hour had passed, we were again rounded up and moved into the hall where we were handcuffed again and our legs shackled. We then had to walk to a bus which carried us to a women's facility on Harding Place.

More time to kill in another holding cell. At least this one was a little cleaner with a window to see the guards sitting in an office outside the hall. We were called one by one out for another nurse to check our hair for lice.

Two of the women I had been with for the past six hours were infected and were treated.

We then were called out one at a time and taken into the guard's office where we were asked our shoe and bra sizes by two women officers. That is when they confiscated my watch and rings.

I was given a white mesh bag which should have contained a pair of canvas shoes, a pair of flip flops, two bras, two T-shirts, two pairs of underwear and a navy blue prison uniform.

I was told to undress. I was humiliated beyond words, but I did as I was told. She shut me into a room with a shower and told me to make sure I cleaned up after myself.

I sprayed water on myself and my hair to make it look as if I had showered. I couldn't. I didn't want to. I wanted to go home.

I realized I didn't have my canvas shoes and I peeked my head out the shower door to tell the officer. I told her I might need size 6. She handed me size 7 and said, "I think these will do quite nicely!"

I joined the other showered girls in a holding cell next to the "dirty" holding cell. We waited another two hours for everyone to go through processing. Each of us seemed to have the wrong size shoes, bra, pants or shirt, but the officers would not switch.

My back had began to severely ache because of my continuous standing. An older inmate, around 68, who seemed to be happily incarcerated (she was serving 10 days for a codes violation), was sweet enough to ask a girl to scoot over for me to sit.

It appeared I would not be able to call home again tonight. It also appeared I was going to have to spend the night in this hell.

We were taken to an "intake" wing of the jail and assigned a cell and a bunk. I was paired up with another girl who had been with me the whole time and who admitted to being a crackhead. The guard ordered, "Green! Top bunk!"

I'm 4 feet, 11 inches. Having been assigned the top bunk was not a good thing. I was equal in height to the top bunk and there was no ladder. My new cell mate realized my dilemma and jumped up on the top bunk to see if she wanted to switch. "I'd be afraid of falling. Sorry," she said as she jumped back down and laid on the bottom bunk.

I climbed up onto a steel stool bolted to the floor about 3 feet from the bunks and then onto a steel desk protruding from the wall. I grabbed at the mattress and pulled myself over, landing hard.

I slept. I don't know how, but I slept. It had to be at least 10 p.m. and I just prayed and cried until I fell asleep.

Banging on the doors and yelling woke me up. Someone was calling "breakfast!" My cell mate dragged herself up and over to the sink and commode where she "freshened up." She then informed me that I better go get something to eat before they locked us back in.

I rolled over onto my belly and inched my way down until I had one toe on her mattress and let go. It wasn't easy getting down.

I left the cell and watched as others left their cells and grabbed Styrofoam plates from a table. I grabbed mine and went back to my cell. It was oatmeal, eggs and what looked like thin fried bologna. I ate a little oatmeal and drank black coffee.

We were ordered back downstairs to dump our plates (they recycle) and return to our cell. We were "locked down" until 3:30 that afternoon. It was the longest day of my life, not knowing what time it was or if I was even getting out. Why hadn't I been released yet? My cell mate slept all day. I slept a little out of pure shock and stared at nothing out the small window, crying the rest of the time.

Lunch consisted of some kind of chicken patty sandwich and white beans. Worse than the food were the drinks, which appeared to be juice but tasted like watered down old Kool-Aid. It was terrible. I was really thirsty.

That afternoon when we were let out to roam the activity room below, I lined up for the telephones. When it was finally my turn, I called my mom's house. No answer. Nor were phones answered at my home and my sister's home. The others in line were restless so I left the phone and got back in line. I knew it would take me another hour or so to reach the phone again anyway. I began worrying even more. Where had everybody gone?

I saw other inmates with reading material so I asked the guard where I could get something to read. He laughed and said, "I wish!"

As I waited to make another phone call, I contemplated on the fact that I still had not seen a doctor as the first nurse had promised. I also hadn't been given any of my medications.

I was next in line for the phone when a guard called, "Johnson, Barr, Green! Pack your stuff!"

I was excited! But then realized they might be sending me to Ohio. I didn't know.

I followed a guard back to the processing cells and on the way, spotted my husband and mother waiting in front of the jail. I was ecstatic! Surely, I was going home!

It took two hours to get processed back out, but I finally walked out and into my family's arms. My 3-year-old daughter waved to me from the car. I can't begin to describe the joy of freedom I felt.

I was then filled in by my family that my sister, Amanda Young, was my savior. She had been on the phone non-stop from the time I was arrested until I was let out. My mom had been hysterical and the rest of my family in shock.

My dad had called a Nashville attorney who "worked" for us for an hour and 45 minutes. He said he called the police department and "threatened" them. The "work" by that attorney was expensive, costing my dad $800. (Now that should be against the law!)

The true worker in my case was my sister, who was relentless in seeking help for me, eventually working with Ohio authorities.

I have since learned that although Bedford County authorities were aware of the identity theft, they said they could do nothing since the warrant originated in Ohio. Although the prior conviction was in Rutherford County, they refused to help without a subpoena for what I thought was public record.

My sister called dead end after dead end and found nobody wanting or willing to even look up files. She finally got in touch with a prosecutor in Ohio who listened to her.

She faxed a picture of me to Ohio and they realized I wasn't who they were looking for. After 28 hours behind bars (more concrete than bars), 28 hours of fear, humiliation and pain, I was released and charges were dropped.

I never received an apology from anyone in what we consider our "justice system."