The Pastor's Wife (14 page)

On September 22, the defense requested a postponement of the October 30 trial date because they needed more time to discuss the case with the newly elected district attorney general. Four days later, Judge McCraw granted that request, putting the trial on the calendar for the February 2007 term without setting a specific date.

The other decision the judge announced that day did not please the defense. He denied their motion to suppress the statements Mary made in Alabama after her arrest.

Farese told the media that he planned to continue the fight to suppress evidence seized from the parsonage. He said that the police did not have the necessary search warrant when they began their investigative exploration of the Winkler home.

 

With a pounding heart, Mary drove with her sister Tabatha from the Thomsen home in McMinnville to Huntingdon on the other side of Nashville. She had not seen her daughters' faces for three months. For the first time in half a year, she'd be able to touch them, kiss them, hug them.

She pulled into the parking lot of the Huntingdon Church of Christ. She went straight to the gymnasium and flung open the door, her eyes scanning the vast room, seeking sight of her little girls.

Before her arrival, Dan Winkler brought over Cokes, ice and popcorn, as well as a supply of disposable diapers for
Breanna. He introduced Mary to the two family friends, Betty Pritchard and her daughter, Beth Guess, who'd be supervising the visitation. Then, he left to go next door to his home in the parsonage and pick up the children.

Dan escorted the girls to the gym and left as they ran toward their mother. Patricia and Allie immediately threw themselves into their mother's arms, giving and receiving kisses and hugs. Breanna hung back a bit—half a year's absence was a formidable length of time for an 18-month-old. After a little coaxing, she, too, joined in the affectionate exchange.

Patricia spotted her “Aunt Baba” on the sideline, rushed over to her for a hug. Allie knew Tabatha was her mom's sister, but didn't really remember her. Breanna had never met her.

They spent their time together playing and talking about everything but the event that caused their separation. The two hours passed far too quickly for Mary Winkler. After a flurry of exchanged I-love-you's, the girls were gone. Mary made the long drive back to McMinnville with her sister, alternating between sparkling moments of recollection to somber periods of dead silence that lasted for miles.

Back in Huntingdon, Dan and Diane talked to their granddaughters about the visit with their mother. They were shocked to learn that Mary told the girls that the police were wrong—she'd had nothing to do with the death of their father. Hearing this lie, the elder Winklers' attitude toward Mary took a dramatic negative turn. One month later, the accusations of Mary's family would harden their hearts forever.

 

Mary asked for permission to travel to the Ladies Christian Retreat at Thompson's Station in Williamson County, Tennessee, on the weekend of October 13. Her attorneys argued that she would benefit from the spiritual guidance, fellowship and support she would find there. Judge McCraw denied the request.

Mary was disappointed, but it was not her most important concern. She hungered for her next visit with her daughters. She had every reason to believe it would happen soon. Then, in mid-October, the November issue of
Glamour
hit mailboxes and newsstands across the country.

In the article about Mary, Clark Freeman came to his daughter's defense. “Mary Carol could not bring pain to anyone…You know the saying, ‘She couldn't hurt a fly'? If a fly buzzed over the table at dinnertime, Mary Carol would open the door and help it find its way out. That's who Mary is.

“I know her finger was on that shotgun. And I know a lot of what has been described about the shooting is true. But Mary Carol didn't do it. Not the Mary Carol I know.”

Steve Farese lashed out at Matthew Winkler. “Only Mary can talk about Matt and his temper and how controlling he was.” He claimed Matt “ruled every aspect of his wife's life.” He told her which dresses to buy, and he told her what to eat. “Mary didn't do anything without first checking with Matthew,” he said in the interview.

The defense attorney asserted that “a too-obedient wife and a too-controlling husband” were “a recipe for disaster.” He insisted that by the time she pulled the trigger, “Mary did not know up from down, and was literally trapped.”

Clark Freeman told the interviewer for
Glamour
that he knew something was wrong in the marriage but if he had believed things had gone “very wrong,” he would have talked to Mary and encouraged her to confide in him and accept his help.

But a month after the publication of
Glamour
, where he claimed to be pretty much clueless, Clark appeared on
Good Morning America
talking about the extremity of the abuse. “Physical, mental, verbal was strong. I don't know how she took it. She's a stronger individual than I am.”

At one point, Mary's family claimed that they had seen Mary only twice in the last five years, but on the morning news show, Clark claimed that the abuse became obvious in the last three years of Matt and Mary's marriage. “I saw
terrible bruises, the heaviest of makeup covering facial bruises. So one day, I confronted her. I said, ‘Mary, you are coming off as a very abused wife. Very battered.' And Mary, she would hang her head and say, ‘No, Daddy, everything is all right.'”

After this attack on the victim, clear lines of demarcation were drawn. The dispute over the custody of Patricia, Allie and Breanna Winkler escalated into all-out war.

On New Year's Eve, Mary and her sister Tabatha went out with Mary's employers, Matt Hash and his life partner Paul Pillow, to the New York Grill, a popular hang-out in downtown McMinnville. Paul said that he tried to get Mary to join in a champagne toast in honor of the occasion, but all that Mary wanted was Mr. Pibb.

Luis Correa and his wife, Libby St. John, were there with friends that night. They recognized Mary Winkler sitting at a table and were shocked to see her giggling and drinking.

One of his friends went up to Mary's table and asked her, “Are you the preacher killer?”

Mary said, “Yeah. You want to be next?”

According to Luis, her companions at the table roared with laughter at her retort. When Mary sidled up to the bar to engage in her secret vice, Luis used his cell phone to snap photographs of her with cigarette in hand. Sitting beside her was an open bottle of beer.

Luis sold the images to WMC-TV. His wife Libby told Action News 5 that she wasn't bothered by Mary's drinking and smoking, but she was disturbed by her unwavering cheerfulness. “This doesn't look like a woman worried about anything. If I thought there was a chance I wouldn't see my children again, I wouldn't be celebrating in such fashion.”

Paul Pillow rushed to Mary's defense, telling anyone who would listen that “She's not the preacher's wife any longer. He's dead now. She's not married to anyone. She's nobody's wife. She's her own person now.” And he continued to insist that she was not drinking.

However, the owner of the New York Grill told WAFF 48 News that Mary had drinks at his establishment three or four times over the past few months.

 

The parties to the criminal case gathered in Selmer in advance of the trial on February 22 for a hearing on the defense's motion to suppress the evidence seized from the parsonage. Drew Eason testified about why he and other members went into the Winkler home and how they called the police and admitted them into the residence.

Three members of law enforcement presented the sequence of events that led to each of their actions, and explained that the initial primary motivation was the location of the three missing children. Judge McCraw took all the arguments and testimony under advisement for a later ruling and set the trial date for April 9, 2007.

The prosecution made an offer to avoid a trial, offering Mary Winkler a plea bargain that would guarantee a life sentence—usually meaning 50 years—instead of execution or life without parole. Then, they offered a deal of a 35-year sentence. The defense turned both down.

On March 14, the state lowered the possible consequences for Mary. They withdrew the pursuit of capital punishment. With that off the table, the maximum sentence she faced was 51 to 60 years of incarceration, but no one thought she'd actually spend that much time behind bars. Before trial, prosecutors offered a 20-year sentence, then a 15-year sentence in exchange for a guilty plea. The defense refused those offers, too.

 

The last half of March was a flurry of legal activity for Mary, but not in the criminal courts. Dan and Diane Winkler filed a $2,000,000 wrongful death suit against Mary,
half for compensatory damages and half for punitive damages, in civil court.

In the papers filed, the Winklers alleged that when Mary shot Matthew, she “caused the children much mental pain and suffering at the loss of their father and has taken from them the person who economically provided for them and would have economically provided for them for many years to come.” The document also contended that the children were deprived of “parental consortium, attention, guidance, care, protection, training, companionship, affection and love.”

On March 29, the attention shifted to the Juvenile Court for McNairy County with presiding Judge Christy R. Little. There were many bones of contention between the parties in the custody case, and attorneys argued for both sides.

Dan and Diane's lawyer, James Adams, said, “My clients didn't ask to be put in this situation. They didn't ask the respondent to kill their son, but it happened. They are in this situation. They have done the best job they can to take care of these three little girls.” He urged the judge not to change the agreed custody order, since there was neither a material change of circumstance nor a written agreement between the parties.

Kay Farese Turner, Mary's attorney for the custody case and sister of Mary's criminal lawyer, insisted that the Winklers were doing harm to the children by keeping them separate from their mother and maternal grandfather, and by sending them to an inappropriate counselor.

She also made a request for the children to have an overnight visit with their mother. “Her family is having a large family reunion this weekend in McMinnville. We had hoped against hope that this court would see fit to let these children go and be with these people. They grew up in McMinnville. They lived there a part of their schooling, or the older child did, and they have friends there, they would be comfortable there, and we would abide by anyone this court said should be present to safeguard this in the court's mind.”

Adams objected to a trip to Mary's home. He felt the judge should not order a visit until the facts of what really occurred while the children were in the custody of his clients could be shown. He asserted that they never acted out of vengeance or vindictiveness. He insisted that they did not discourage the girls from speaking to their mother. “The children are going through some things right now, as can be expected when their father has been killed by their mother. They're going through some stuff. My clients have not seen fit to force them to speak to her.”

Turner presented her client's vastly different point of view. “It is my opinion—and I told the court I practiced law thirty-two years, twenty-five in this area alone. I have never seen such an absolute alienation of children's affections against their parent; and all you have to do, Your Honor, is read from the beginning to the end of those counseling records.”

Judge Little admitted that the reports from Diana Crawford were “quite eye-opening,” but did not rule on any visitation request. Before that moved forward, she wanted to speak with the two victims of the criminal case, Patricia and Allie Winkler.

On April 4, 2007—just four days before jury selection commenced in Mary's murder trial—Judge Christy Little gaveled her courtroom to order, brushing a stray strand of her collar-length blonde hair out of her eyes. Representatives of Dan and Diane Winkler were joined by the attorneys hired by Mary Winkler and those on behalf of the three girls, all standing before her. Patricia and Allie waited in another room with Amy Jones from CASA—Court Appointed Special Advocates—an organization using trained community volunteers to speak on behalf of the best interests of children.

Before bringing them in, Little heard arguments from the attorneys. Kay Farese Turner expressed outrage that family counselor Diana Crawford's main expertise was in the arena of termination of parental rights and adoption. She expressed her shock about the lack of care Allie Winkler had received for her head injury in 2005. “This child is hearing voices, this child hears things that other people don't hear…Do we see Ms. Crawford refer this child to a psychiatric neurologist? Do we see this addressed anywhere with a qualified psychiatrist?”

After an interruption from attorney James Adams about the admissibility of the girls' records outside of the presence of the counselor who created them, Turner continued. “We also have the older child, who was bonded to the mother, being told—Patricia is being told that her mother
is bad, the Winklers telling them what the mother's motives were, discussing the criminal proceedings, and then allowing the D.A. to orchestrate whether or not these children see their mother.”

She added that the collusion between the state's attorney and the counselor was “bordering on prosecutorial misconduct. It is bordering on unethical misconduct as it relates to dealing with three children who have, as this court so succinctly said, lost their father, and now they're going to see to it they lose their mother.”

The judge stopped this characterization of her remarks and moved on to ask questions of the lawyers present. Wrapping up this portion of the hearing, she elicited their opinions on what needed to happen in the future.

Turner said, “What these children need is reunification counseling. They need counseling that wipes out of their mind the brainwashing and planting of memory.”

Adams argued that the temporary custody order was temporary in name only. “This is a valid custody order and…the law clearly says…that if the court were to just give in to the superior rights doctrine every time the actual parents stood up, then there would never be any finality to any custody orders ever, ever drafted.” He reminded the judge that his clients alleged in the petition that a change of custody would cause “…substantial harm to the children in our petition, and the guardian
ad litem
[the advocate appointed by the court to represent the interests of another—in this case, the Winkler children] is alleging substantial harm now…”

Judge Little requested that Patricia and Allie be brought before her. She focused her blue eyes and round, motherly face on the two girls and tried to put them at ease with simple questions about their daily life. She asked them about their schools and report cards, then inquired:

“And what is your favorite subject?”

Patricia said, “Science.”

Allie said, “Social Studies.”

Judge Little spoke of her own 7-year-old daughter. “Her
favorite right now, which in the past has been ‘recess,' is now Math, which is a very good thing; and she likes the Doodlebops and SpongeBob and
Suite Life of Zack and Cody
.”

Patricia nodded in agreement.

“That's cool, isn't it?” the judge asked.

“We like SpongeBob,
Suite Life of Zack and Cody
,
Drake and Josh
,
Zoey one-oh-one
,” Allie said.

“
Zoey one-oh-one
is cool. You watch
Hannah Montana
and
The Amanda Show
?”

Both of the girls said, “Yes.”

“Oh, so cool. All right, now…”

Allie interrupted, “And The Naked Brothers Band.”

“Yes; and I bet that doesn't go over real well, because I know I don't like the name.”

“I don't either,” said Patricia. “They need to change their name, but they're still cool.”

“Even though they are naked brothers, they are still cool?”

“Yes,” Patricia said.

“I haven't been really happy about that,” Judge Little said. “And you have your ears pierced.”

“Uh-huh,” Patricia answered.

“Wow.”

Allie jumped in. “I get mine when I'm nine.”

“I did mine in September for my birthday,” Patricia said.

“I'm going to get mine when I'm turning nine,” Allie repeated.

When the judge determined they were relaxed and comfortable speaking with her, she steered them to more serious matters. “I wish we didn't have to meet like this, you know that? And I'm so sorry that you lost your daddy. It's been tough, hasn't it? It's been a bad year.”

“Uh-huh,” Allie agreed.

“I guess you could classify it—How do you classify it?”

“Well…” Patricia began.

“What does that mean?” Allie interjected.

Patricia continued, “It's been bad, but I made new friends, too. So there's good and bad.”

“You know, a lot of people were concerned about you, and are still concerned about you. You've got a whole courtroom of people in there concerned about you, and then all the lawyers that are in here and everybody else; and then you've got your little sister, too, that you—although she's younger—she's a part of the package, too.”

“Yes,” Patricia said.

“And you take care of her, make sure she's okay? And I'm sorry that you haven't been able to see your mom.”

“I don't want to,” Patricia said.

“Well, let's don't jump to that, okay? Let's just take it kind of one step at a time here.” The judge then walked them gently through the events from their mother's arrest to the funeral. When asked what their grandfather told them about what happened, Patricia and Allie were walking over each other's answers so much, it prompted the judge to say, “We'll just let Patricia talk, and then we'll let Allie talk, all right? Go ahead.”

“He told us that Mama called one time,” Patricia said.

“One time?”

Allie interrupted. “I want to say that part.”

Patricia continued. “She's been calling, and then I talked to her, and I told her I didn't want to talk to her, or I didn't want her to write anymore to me. And then—I can't remember what he's told us—a lot, too. And then Allie's going to tell you about what happened.”

“Okay, Allie,” the judge said.

“One time when she called, it was Breanna's birthday.”

“Yes?”

“And we had to go over to Gigi's to celebrate it, because our mother said she was coming over.”

“And who is Gigi?”

Patricia answered, “Our grandmother, Eloise Boyd. She's our great grandmother.”

Allie interjected, “And he was telling that he was disappointed at her and stuff, and then he called the judges.”

“He didn't call the judge,” Patricia contradicted.

“His lawyers,” Allie said.

“No, yes, no, he called…” Patricia began.

“I'm speaking now,” Allie interrupted.

The judge intervened. “It's Allie's turn. Y'all sound like lawyers in a courtroom. Allie, it's your turn, dear.”

“And he called his lawyers. And if she would have come here, she would have been put to jail until the court,” Allie said.

“Because what? What did she do?”

“Because she wasn't allowed to come here, but she said she was coming here. But just in case, we went over to Gigi's,” Allie said.

Patricia added, “March ninth was Breanna's birthday, and she had called up a few days earlier and said that she was going to come over. And Poppa called her back and said she wasn't allowed because she would be trespassing. She didn't even ask to come over, and she said if…”

The judge interrupted. “Don't you think that's kind of neat that she wanted to come to the birthday?”

“Yes, well, he said if she…was going to trespass, then he would have to call the police.”

Allie spoke up. “Why, why we went over to Gigi's is because one time our—her father, he came…”

The judge tried to turn the conversation to their mother's sisters, but Allie persisted in staying on the subject of her mom's father. “And then our granddaddy came over, and he said he was going to take pictures. But our Poppa said no, said they had to go talk on the porch, he could visit with us for five minutes. So he, then he called our mom so he could talk to her, but they said no.”

Patricia said, “Because that was before she—before I told her not to—before I talked to her.”

“Yes, and so,” Allie continued, “and then he got the phone, so he had to leave and he was not allowed to come back to our house…because they would take pictures and make our daddy look bad, bad man and stuff.”

“Who said that?” the judge asked.

“Our Poppa,” Allie said.

“He had to tell us, because they were already doing that, Mama and Granddaddy,” Patricia said in her Poppa's defense.

The judge cut off the conversation. “Now, you know that may not necessarily be absolutely true, right?”

Both Patricia and Allie said, “I don't know.”

Patricia added, “Because, I mean, like, my friends have been saying, like, they saw us on magazines and…”

“Stuff,” said Allie, completing her sister's sentence. “Well, that's not exactly. He said that—because our aunts would take pictures of us a lot, and they would be taking pictures and make our daddy look bad, like he was being mad, a bad man, so she could get away with it.”

“Okay,” the judge said with a sigh. “Let me just tell you one thing. Us old people…sometimes, we do things we shouldn't do, and one of those things is—You guys need to enjoy being a nine-year-old and a seven-year-old and really not have to worry about all this stuff now.”

“Well, I mean, like, I want my Poppa to tell me all this, because I want him to tell me the truth and what's going on,” Patricia objected.

“Right, but…” the judge began.

“So…” Patricia tried to continue.

“But,” Judge Little said, “you know that story about ‘There is two sides to every story and sometimes three'?”

Allie said, “Uh-huh.”

“Maybe you should keep a more open mind about it, because your mom has gone through a lot, and she has attorneys that are fighting really, really hard just to get a chance for her to see you and talk to you.”

Both girls shake their heads.

“And you know, there may be another side to this story that we don't know about, and it may come to a time where, you know, you—Wouldn't you like to just see her and ask her some questions?”

“We have already saw her once,” Allie said.

“Yes, but just once. Wouldn't you like to have a chance to just talk to her about it?”

They both shook their heads and Allie said, “No. And then…”

“Why?” the judge said, cutting her off. “I guess that's the big question.”

“Because she did a mean thing, and it really hurt us really bad,” Allie answered.

“But we all do bad things, though,” the judge said.

Patricia burst into tears.

“I'm so sorry,” the judge apologized.

“She's emotional,” Allie said.

“She's emotional. She's emotional,” the judge said as she struggled not to get emotional herself. “Can we have some Kleenex, Bailiff, the good kind?” Turning to Patricia, she said, “We're going to get you some good kind. We have this old nasty hard County kind, and then I have my own private stash.”

“This is what happened,” Allie began.

“I don't want to see my mama after what she did,” Patricia insisted.

“And see, like, this is how it began,” Allie explained. “Our mama, she had been robbing banks.”

“Well, not robbing banks, but going…” Patricia said.

Allie continued, “She had a plan to get some money from a bank, so then, early in the morning, they would call her. So she told our daddy and he was mad at her.”

“He wasn't mad at her,” Patricia said, “he was disappointed in her.”

“Disappointed in her, so she just shot him,” Allie said.

“For no reason,” Patricia added.

“Who told you all that stuff about the bank and all that?” Judge Little asked.

Ignoring the question, Allie said, “And then she…”

The judge repeated, “Who told you about the bank and the bank calling and the ‘disappointed' and all that?”

“I can't remember,” Allie said.

The judge turned to Patricia. “Do you remember?”

Patricia shook her head no.

“Was it your Poppa or…?”

“I don't know,” Patricia insisted.

“I can't remember,” Allie said again.

“Would it have been…?”

Allie cut off the judge. “And he—I remember this part—our Nana, she said our mother lied to us. She said that she called nine-nine-one [sic].”

“But she didn't,” Patricia said.

The tissues arrived for Patricia and then the judge said, “Let's talk about prior to that. You love your mom.”

“No,” Patricia said.

At the judge's urging, the two girls admitted that they did have a good relationship with their mother and she was never mean to them. Then, she asked, “From the time this incident occurred, prior—back, back—when you were younger or when you were in kindergarten and all that, did you get along with your mom?”

“Uh-huh,” Patricia said.

“You loved your mom.”

“Yes,” Allie said.