The Pastor's Wife (10 page)

The alarm clock went off at 6:15 and the distant wail of the baby penetrated Matthew's fog of sleep. He hated it when his rest was disturbed by crying and he was annoyed that the baby monitor was turned off. He placed a foot on Mary's rump and shoved. “Shut her up. This is ridiculous,” he growled.

Mary tumbled out of bed from the force of the push and headed for the bedroom door, but she wasn't moving fast enough for Matthew. He sprang up and hurried down the hall ahead of her.

By the time Mary reached Breanna's room, Matt was leaning over the crib. His thumb and forefinger pinched the baby's nostrils together; the rest of his hand covered her mouth.

“Stop it, Matthew. You can't do this to her, she has problems. Can I have her?” Mary demanded.

Matthew threw his hands up in the air and said, “I'm tired of it.” He slammed his open palm against the door frame as he left the room. He grumbled and muttered as he stomped back down the hall and collapsed on the bed.

Mary cuddled Breanna, stroking her back, murmuring soothing words into her ear and rocking her gently. She changed her diaper and slid a pacifier into her mouth. The crying stopped, the baby's breathing pattern changed and Mary knew she was asleep. She eased her back into the crib, covered her and left the room.

Mary was angry. She went into the kitchen and started preparing coffee, then stopped. She was upset about the method Matthew used to quiet the baby. She called it suffocation, and she'd seen him do it to the other girls. But Breanna had respiratory problems, and Mary knew it was especially dangerous to do it to her. It had to stop. The cruelty had to stop now.

Mary walked through the doorway to the master bedroom, past the closet, up to the door of the bathroom on Matthew's side of the king-size, barley-twist poster bed. “I want to talk.”

Matthew snuggled deeper into the covers.

“I want to talk now, Matthew.”

He didn't even flutter his eyes in response.

Mary spun around, went to the closet and grabbed the Remington 870 Express shotgun off the shelf. She went to her side of the bed and planted her feet in the pile of decorative pillows lying on the floor. She pointed the shotgun in Matthew's direction. “I want to talk,” she repeated.

Matthew did not respond. Not a word or a movement. Not even a grunt in acknowledgment of her presence.

Mary pulled the trigger. The noise of the blast shocked her. The acrid scent of gunpowder tickled her nose. Matthew rolled off the bed and sprawled on the floor. The reality of what just happened stunned Mary. She headed for the door.

Across the hall, the firing of the shotgun awoke Patricia. She did not recognize the sound and in her sleep, it blurred with the memory of the noise her daddy made the time he fell to the floor, knocking over the night stand. She got up and headed for her parents' room.

Mary reached the foot of the bed and saw Patricia in the doorway.

Patricia saw her father on the floor. She heard him gasp, “Call 9-1-1.”

Mary closed the distance between herself and her child. “Stay out there, Patricia,” she said as she shut the door.

Mary knelt by Matthew's side. Blood oozed from his
mouth. She grabbed the edge of a sheet and wiped the blood away.

“Why?” Matthew asked as the blood continued to pool in his mouth and trickle past his lips.

Mary wiped his mouth again. “I'm sorry. I love you,” was all she said. She disconnected the phone from the wall, set it on the floor beyond Matthew's reach and then disconnected the receiver.

She left the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind her, and faced Patricia and Allie, who had since gotten up and joined her sister. “We have to leave and go far away. A bad man hurt Daddy. We need to go before he hurts us, too.”

“Daddy said call 9-1-1,” Patricia reminded her.

“I did. I did,” Mary lied. “We can't wait. We need to go now. Go get in the car while I get the baby.” Mary went into the third bedroom, grabbed Breanna and a pair of the baby's socks. She went out the back door to the carport and strapped the three little girls into the mini-van.

She darted back into the house and snatched up the shotgun, stuffed it in its brown carrying bag and zipped it shut. She didn't spare another glance for Matthew. She left the bedroom door open as she raced down the hall. Concealing the gun from the girls, she locked the back door and stowed the murder weapon in the rear of the van.

She backed out of the carport, headed down the driveway and out of town. Inside her home, her husband, the father of her three children, slowly bled to death on the floor of the room where she once shared his bed.

Mary fled her home with no idea of her ultimate destination. Her first thought was to take the girls to Matthew's parents, Dan and Diane Winkler, where she knew her daughters would be safe. Then she remembered that her in-laws were on vacation.

She thought about going to Memphis to await the Winklers' return to Huntingdon, but she'd never been to that city and didn't know her way around. Instead, she crossed the state line into Mississippi and continued heading south. The compulsion to keep moving dominated her decision-making. She kept driving until she was forced to stop for gas near Jackson.

While she filled the tank, Allie spotted the shotgun in the back of the minivan. “Mommy, why did you bring Daddy's gun?” she asked.

“In case the bad guy that hurt your daddy tries to hurt us,” Mary said.

The children were restless after four-and-a-half hours in the car, and Mary needed time to think about what to do next. All she wanted to do was spend the last days with her girls having fun. Before “the bad days” arrived, she wanted to fill their minds and hers with happy memories.

At times, she could not believe what had occurred that morning in her bedroom. At others, the roar of the shotgun and sight of her husband's bloody mouth played in a stark,
continuous loop. Through this mixed state of denial and acceptance, she looked for a hotel with an indoor swimming pool to entertain her children. She spotted a billboard advertising one, but when she stopped, they had no vacancies. The clerk at the counter gave her directions to the Fairfield Inn.

After checking in, she took the girls to Wal-Mart and bought them swimming suits and a change of clothes. While she played with them in the hotel pool, she thought about where they would all go tomorrow. The first place that came to mind was Baton Rouge. She knew the streets there, but had no idea what she'd find. She knew that Hurricane Katrina left a lot of devastation in Louisiana. Would things still be chaotic in that city? Would there be anything to do with the girls?

Then she remembered the many times that Matthew promised Patricia and Allie a trip to the beach. Patricia had been once when they lived in Baton Rouge, but was too young then to remember it now. Matthew always intended to take them, but each time some work- or family-related problem interfered and the promise was never fulfilled. That was the perfect solution. She'd take the girls to the beach.

When they returned to their hotel room, her daughters were full of questions about Daddy. Mary deflected their inquiries with a litany of comforting words. They went out and picked up dinner, but Mary was too uptight to eat. She grabbed a bag of popcorn on the way back to the Fairfield. She nibbled on it that night to quiet her sour stomach, but even that was difficult to get down. Mary disconnected the phone cord from the wall jack. That made it impossible for Patricia to make a phone call while Mary was busy getting the baby ready for bed.

 

Meanwhile, back in Selmer, Regions Bank had closed for the day. The bankers there were not pleased with Mary Winkler. Checks came in and were returned marked
“insufficient funds.” Since the Winklers missed their scheduled meeting that morning, they bankers now began considering their legal options.

 

The next morning, Mary pulled out her cell phone and checked for messages. There were several from the church looking for her and her children. She knew time was running out. She listened to a voicemail from her father. She wanted to reach through the phone and rip his head off. She didn't want to hear from him. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to see him.

She put her cell away without returning any of the calls. She ignored the pleas from the many anxious callers who were worried about the safety of her little girls.

When she hung up, Patricia asked, “Are we going home to Daddy, now?”

“No,” Mary said. “Daddy called and left a message. He said he's resting at the hospital and wants us to stay away another night so we can all come home at the same time.”

Mary packed up her girls and the new purchases, and hit the road, heading for the Gulf Coast. She took Highway 49 out of Jackson heading southeast. Just past Hattiesburg, she turned onto Route 98 and crossed the state line into Alabama. When she hit Mobile, they stopped for lunch. Mary still had no appetite, but she made sure the girls were fed. She took Interstate 10 across Mobile Bay, then left the interstate heading south, arriving in Orange Beach about an hour later.

Alabama's small sliver of coastline, with thirty-two miles of beach lapped by the turquoise waters of the Gulf of Mexico, is squeezed in between Mississippi and Florida. The city of Orange Beach gets lots of tourist dollars, but rarely makes headlines.

2006 was not a typical year. Before the end of March, notoriety had struck twice. Mayor Steve Russo became the target of state and federal investigations and indictments into bribery, failure to disclose conflicts of interest and ethics and election law violations. Then he topped that
off by getting busted for possession of marijuana. He resigned two months earlier, in January.

For a couple of months, peace reigned in the coastal town until another unsavory event drew the media's attention to Orange Beach. This time, the scope of the coverage was national. Mary Winkler chose to vacation on their shores after shooting her husband in the back.

She selected beachfront accommodations with incredible views of the gulf at Sleep Inn, a six-floor hotel with 117 rooms accessed by interior corridors. She and the girls checked into their fourth-floor room on the afternoon of March 23.

They went shopping, this time at the Dollar General store where she purchased more clothing and swim floaties. They played in the sand on the beach and splashed in the swimming pool. Then Mary loaded up her daughters in the mini-van and headed to the Waffle House for dinner. She never made it.

Mary thought it had been a great day. The next morning, she planned to hit the road and head back to Tennessee. She'd deliver the girls to Matthew's parents. And then? She simply did not know what would happen next. She did know that she'd done something wrong and there'd be a big price to pay for her actions. The most painful part was her awareness that, because of what she did, she might never see her girls again.

Still, she experienced a moment of surprise when she saw flashing red and blue lights in her rear-view mirror. That feeling was quickly replaced by resignation. She knew why she was being stopped. She knew her time had come. She regretted being caught so far from home, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

They might lock her up for life. Keep her girls away from her forever. Turn them against her. But there was one thing no one could ever touch. She would always have the memories of her daughters' happy smiles and exuberant laughter during this odd but comforting trip to the beach.

The next two days for Mary Winkler alternated between hours of intensity, at the focus of law enforcement, judges and her in-laws, and hours of boredom as she sat alone with nothing to do but stare at blank walls. Questioned by authorities, she admitted to her role in the death of her husband. She signed custody of her three girls over to her in-laws. She waived her right to fight extradition to Tennessee and then made the long drive back to Selmer in the company of Sheriff Rick Roten and Officer Byron Maxedon.

When church member Dorothy Weatherford heard about Mary's imminent return, she went to the McNairy County Justice Center and got the list of items that prisoners are allowed to have behind bars. She carried it to Wal-Mart, since, by jail rules, everything had to be new and in its original packaging. She picked up socks, underwear, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant and other assorted toiletries. She returned to the jail hoping to drop them off, but couldn't, as Mary had not yet arrived at the facility. Later that day, Dorothy's daughter called after seeing video of Mary's arrival on the news. Dorothy returned to the jail with her package. Since Mary was allowed to have two books in her possession in her cell, Dorothy included a Bible inscribed with “From the ladies at 4
^th
Street Church,” and a book of devotions.

Dorothy was the first to bring supplies to Mary Win
kler, but she certainly wasn't the last. Over the course of Mary's incarceration, the church members were so generous, they brought in more than Mary could use, and the excess items were passed out to other prisoners.

 

Attorney Steve Farese of Corinth, Mississippi, received a phone call from a friend explaining Mary's plight and her inability to afford a good attorney. As soon as he got word of Mary's arrival in Selmer, he made the short drive from his home to the McNairy County Justice Center.

He sat down across from Mary and introduced himself. At rest, with gray hair surrounding unremarkable features, his was the kind of face forgotten the moment he was out of sight. But when he began to talk, his features livened with emotion and Mary could see his concern for her glowing in his eyes. He saw vulnerability in her down turned head and little-girl face, he heard it in her soft, childlike voice. He promised he would do everything he could to defend her against the charges, and she believed every word he said. He vowed to return on Monday and she knew he would.

As soon as he left the jail, Farese called Leslie Ballin, an attorney in Memphis whom he'd worked with on other cases. “Do you want to come to Selmer?”

“All right. How much is the retainer fee?” Ballin asked.

“It's
pro bono
.”

“Steve, hold on, there must be something wrong with my cell phone. I thought I heard you say
pro bono
. Are you crazy?”

“Leslie, it's the right thing to do.” Steve outlined all of his reasons and Ballin signed on for the case. Mary Winkler now had a high-powered defense team.

 

Sunday morning was a somber one at the Fourth Street Church of Christ as members gathered for their first service after Matthew's death. Sharon Pinckley, who taught the first- and second-grade Sunday school class, looked across the hall and realized nobody was there to teach the
2- and 3-year-olds. It was Mary Winkler's group and no one thought to find a substitute.

In adult Bible class, church elder Robert Shackleford warned the group not to speculate about why their popular young minister was killed. “Perhaps over time, we will better understand why this has happened. Be very cautious about what you say or even what you think.” Rumors and gossip are destructive forces, he told them. “The simple fact is that no one knows why, except maybe for Mary herself.”

He urged the congregation to pray for the children, their grandparents and Mary Winkler. “Mary is a member of this church family, and we may be some of the closest family she has at this point. Forgiveness is a cornerstone of our faith. If we don't have forgiveness, then we don't have anything.”

The sanctuary was filled with flowers as well as worshipers for the morning service. The church's youth ministry group presented the most dramatic arrangement—sixty-two yellow roses—one for each of the children in the congregation.

Church elder Drew Eason led the congregation in a prayer for help from their Father to get through this difficult ordeal, and said, “Thank you, Lord, for the time we had with Matthew Winkler.” He prayed, too, for Mary: “We ask that she would confess her sins and repent in such a way that she will ultimately have a home with you.”

After a tearful rendition of “No Tears in Heaven,” church elder and McNairy County Mayor Wilburn Ashe spoke. “We are here this morning with heavy hearts. Our emotions are running high.” He reminded the members that little was known about the murder. The only things they knew with certainty were that Matthew Winkler was dead, his wife was in jail and their children were without their parents. “These three little girls we know do not have a daddy right now, and for all practical purposes, they don't have a momma. Those children have got a good home that they're in, but it's not Momma and Daddy.” He
warned of the dangers of speculation and loose talk. “We've got to do two things. We've got to remain close to God and we've got to remain close to one another.”

Jeremy Weekley came down from Freed-Hardeman University in Henderson to deliver that morning's sermon. “God knows exactly what we are going through,” he comforted the audience. Echoing the message of a song sung earlier by the congregation, he quoted from Revelation 21:4: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed.” He then added, “The present tribulations are no comparison to that which lies ahead for us.”

After that harsh warning, he reassured them that their church would survive these tragic events. “This life is not all there is, there is something more.”

 

At the Huntingdon Church of Christ, the elders assumed Dan Winkler would not be available to preach that day, and arranged for a substitute. But Dan rose in the pulpit and delivered a sermon about love, kindness, gratitude and forgiveness. He expressed appreciation for the 400 members who filled the pews. “We love no one more than we love you.”

He thanked law enforcement officials and the news media for their assistance in locating his granddaughters and said, “I'm thankful for the Huntingdon Church of Christ and the town of Huntingdon. What wonderful support that Huntingdon will give these three precious babies.” He spoke of his gratitude for America itself, saying that calls have come from all over and people have traveled hundreds of miles to embrace them and weep with them for a short time.

Dan talked about the challenges facing him and Diane in raising his grandchildren, but added, “I look forward to being a daddy again.” He thanked God for the time he had with his son and cried as he talked about the man he'd raised. “I know the kind of husband and father he was and what a man he truly was.”

Sunday afternoon visitation at the jail ran from 1 until
3 in the afternoon. Dorothy Weatherford entered the sparse visiting area, containing only a soft-drink machine, a bench and one table. When Mary was brought from her cell, Dorothy moved into place in front of the window. They each picked up a telephone receiver on opposite sides of the Plexiglas. Dorothy said, “Mary, I wish you could have looked to me and trusted me and told me, ‘Hey, there's problems.' I'm old enough to be your mother. I wish you would have come to me to fill that role when you had trouble.”

Another church member visiting Mary that day was Pam Killingsworth. She told Mary that everyone was praying for her.

“I loved him so much,” Mary whispered. “I'm so sorry for everything. I hope everyone will forgive me.”

“Mary, if things were so tough, why didn't you talk to me, or someone from the church?”

Mary hung her head and shook it back and forth. “I don't know.”

“Keep praying,” Pam urged her.

“I know,” Mary said. “God is going to take care of us.”

 

Selmer had not seen this amount of attention from the rest of the world since four tornadoes ravaged western and central Tennessee, killing four people in McNairy County in 1991. The one that touched down in Selmer ripped through town, cutting off all the power for days. One man died, crushed between two vehicles in a used car lot. More than thirty residents received treatment at the local hospital, and dozens more were transported to hospitals outside of the county.

That was on March 22, 1991, fifteen years to the day before Matthew Winkler died. Once again, events on March 22 drew the eyes of the nation to this small town and its people.

In the decade-and-a-half since that disaster, life passed by unnoticed by anyone outside of the county. As Russ Ingle wrote in the
Independent Appeal
:

On the afternoon of Monday, March 27, Mary wore shackles and clutched attorney Steve Farese's hand as deputies escorted her into the small courtroom of General Sessions Court Judge Bob Gray just down the hall from the jail. They made an odd couple walking together to the table. Farese, with his wattled neck and gray sweep of hair combed over his bald spot, towered over his short, dark-haired, doe-eyed client.

She sat by Farese's side for her arraignment with her head down and her back to the audience. She did not once glance at her father or at the row behind her, filled with members of the church. The women there sobbed and dabbed their eyes with tissues throughout the proceedings. The courtroom was full, with reporters and photographers occupying most of the other seats.

The judge opened the proceedings by addressing Mary directly. In a warm Southern drawl, he said, “Ms. Winkler, the purpose of having you here today is for the court to advise you of certain rights that you have with the charges filed against you. And I know that Steve Farese is an experienced attorney and has probably gone over this with you already, but it's my responsibility to go over them with you again.

“In addition to advising you of your rights, we're going
to set the matter of a preliminary hearing. Ms. Winkler, the
state of tennessee
versus
Mary Carol Winkler
…you are charged with first-degree murder.”

He then read the affidavit of complaint to her and advised her of her right to counsel, to remain silent and to have a preliminary hearing. “Do you have any questions?”

Mary raised her head and delivered the only two words she spoke in court that day in a firm, determined voice. “No, sir.”

After a discussion between Gray and the attorneys at the bar, the judge announced that any discussion about bail would be delayed until the preliminary hearing scheduled for Thursday, March 30. In five minutes, the arraignment proceedings were over and Mary was escorted back to jail.

Clark Freeman, Mary's father, left the courtroom with a sheriff's deputy, who took him to a private office. En route, he responded to reporters' shouted questions, saying that his daughter was doing “as well as she can.” But he would say no more.

Prosecutor Elizabeth Rice didn't have much to say to the journalists either, telling them only that all the evidence would be presented in court later. When asked about motive, she said, “I just think it's important for us to let this play out in court and not get into specific details of what it is or what her rationale is for it.”

To the media's great disappointment, the defense attorneys weren't much more forthcoming. Leslie Ballin declined to answer questions about Mary's state of mind, but said that the defense might order a psychological exam. Steve Farese said that investigators had not told him what motive, if any, Mary had given them. When asked about marital problems, he said, “Have you ever been in a relationship? They all have some problems.”

The media engulfed the church members as they emerged from the courthouse. Most of them did not speak, but Anita Whirley said, “It hurts us very much, but we're
going to stand behind her one hundred percent. I told a sheriff's deputy, anything she needs, we'll get for her.”

Janet Sparks reiterated the church's support for their former preacher's wife, saying, “Mary is a sweet child and we just love her.”