I was just 18 years old when I got home one night and found my mother dead in her bedroom. She had been murdered, and less than 24 hours later, I was being charged with her death. There was only one problem — I didn’t do it.
I had been at a church meeting before coming home to find my mother dead. I immediately called anyone I could think of for help. Instead of being consoled, I was brought into the police station and kept overnight. I was kept awake and questioned in the early morning. Despite having no attorney present, I was subjected to an interrogation and even took a voluntary polygraph test. I lived in a small town — I trusted the local law enforcement, and even knew some of the officers who were interrogating me. I genuinely believed they were there to help me, and that by cooperating with them, my innocence would be quickly proven and I would be allowed to go home. But, I was wrong, and to this day my mother’s killer has gone free.