The Pastor's Wife (15 page)

“She took you to ball games and movies and ballets or whatever, and you had a good relationship, right?”

Both girls nodded.

“And that night, you went with her, you were with your mom. And you missed your mom when you didn't get to see her for a period of time, right?”

“Well, before I knew she killed my daddy, I did,” Patricia said.

“Okay. Okay. And now that you know what you think that you've been told, who all has told you that?”

“That my mom killed my daddy?” Patricia asked.

Then in unison, the sisters said, “Nana and Poppa.”

Allie explained her daddy's absence at church, then said, “So they knocked down the door and found him
dead. And Patricia said she heard a loud knock when—that night, she said she heard it.”

“I heard…” Patricia began.

Allie interrupted. “Then when we were in the hall, Trisha said she saw a gun.”

“No, I didn't,” Patricia contradicted her.

“Yes, you did.”

“What happened was, I was—We were sleeping, and I don't know how early it was, and…”

“Because you had to go to bed early? On a Tuesday night you go to bed by eight-thirty, right?”

“Yes,” Patricia answered. “And, well, what happened was, we saw—Well, I heard—I don't know if Daddy fell on the floor, or somebody—or if Mom—or if I heard the gunshot. I don't know what happened. What it was, I heard a big kerplunk. And I woke up, because I was scared. And I—And I was going to go to Mama and Dad's room to see if it was like a thunderstorm or something, and Daddy was on the floor, face down. And he was like—He sounded like he was hurt.”

“Right,” the judge encouraged her to continue.

“So, I didn't see any blood, though.”

“Okay.”

“And then—and the youth ministers called—The elders called a person that knew Uncle Jacob, one of Uncle Jacob's friends…

“And then, Uncle Jacob called Nana and Poppa.”

“No, no,” Allie said.

“Uh huh,” Patricia retorted.

“Some police came to Nana and Poppa's house and they told them,” Allie said.

“No, they didn't,” Patricia argued.

“I remember,” Allie insisted. “I have a better memory than you.”

“But, Allie, they were in their holiday. And Uncle Jacob called Nana and Poppa and told them that they found Daddy dead, and then they—and then the police called
them and told them that they found us and we were—Well, before the police called them, before anybody found us, there was, like, an AMBER Alert, and they were—for missing children, and they told—And they…”

“Where did you think you were going?” the judge asked.

“Mama said when we were going to Alabama, she said Daddy wanted us to go here.”

“For like a vacation?”

Both girls nodded and then Allie said, “No, just in case that man would come again.”

“Yes,” Patricia agreed.

“So that's what we thought,” Allie added.

Patricia clarified, “‘Just in case,' she said. ‘Just in case the man came again, we would be gone, he couldn't hurt us.' And then we were going to Alabama, I was like, ‘Where are we going, why can't we go back to see Daddy?' and she was like, ‘Well, Daddy would want us to go here.' And I was like, ‘Can't we go pick up Daddy?' And she said, ‘No.' She's like, ‘No.'”

“No, Trisha,” Allie interrupted. “She couldn't say that, because she told—because we—because she told us at the house that she was calling nine-nine-one [sic].”

“I know.”

“I remember,” Allie said.

“She said that he was at the hospital, and then I asked, ‘Can't we go pick him up,' and, see, ‘get him over here?' And she's like, ‘No, no.' And I'm like, well, ‘Yes.' And she's like, ‘Because Breanna might be, like, crying and stuff.'”

The judge told the girls that there would be a trial next week and said, “The only issue that I have to decide is, do you see your mom, do you not see your mom, the what-if's of the future.”

Both girls said, “We don't see her.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to,” Patricia said.

“We don't want to,” Allie corrected.

“And Poppa said if I ever wanted to call my mom, he
would call her, because he wants what's best for me. And he said…”

“Us,” Allie corrected again.

“Us. And he said, ‘If you ever want to talk to your mom, just tell me and I'll call her.' But I've never wanted to.”

The judge allowed Kay Farese Turner to ask a few questions. Turner asked the younger girl, “Allie, do you have headaches?”

“Well, I kind of do, because I've got an ear problem, but my ear is healing better.”

“Do you ever hear voices telling you to do things?”

Allie nodded her head. “Yes, like sometimes I hear a voice. Like sometimes Nana and Poppa are calling my name, but then I get up and then I get out and go, ‘Yes, ma'am?' and, like, ‘Ma'am?' And they said, ‘I didn't call you.' And I'm, ‘Didn't you call my name?' They said they didn't call my name.”

Turner turned to the oldest girl. “Patricia, when did you first learn that your daddy had died? You said that you learned that after you got back?”

“No. We were in the hotel. And I went first. And they—because they were going to tell both of us.”

“They said that our daddy had gone to see Jesus,” Allie said.

“Yes,” Patricia agreed.

As the questioning continued, both girls insisted they knew nothing about the district attorney or lawyers, they just knew that they didn't want to see their mother. Then Turner asked, “Do either of you ever write your mom and send her any of your pictures or anything?”

They both said, “No.”

“You never wrote her?”

“I wrote her once,” Patricia said.

“We just wrote her once,” Allie said.

“Did she ever respond to that letter?”

“No,” Patricia answered.

“Did you send her your report cards or pictures or anything like that?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I didn't want to,” Patricia insisted.

Turner tried to get Patricia to admit that her Poppa told her that her mother or granddaddy would sell the pictures to media outlets, but Patricia refused. Turner then asked, “And you didn't want to send her a picture of you, like your school pictures or anything?”

“I mean, we sent her one picture,” Patricia said.

“She asked for them, didn't she? She wanted you to send her some.”

“Yes, we sent her a picture last year of when we went to Disney World, and we had a—we took the castle in the background,” Patricia explained.

“How did you send it?”

Patricia furrowed her brow.

“I saw a letter that said ‘Mary Winkler,' and so—and then—and then I—They let me put it in the mail with my other letters to go to someone else.”

“So you know it got mailed then.”

“Yes, we know,” Allie replied.

The attorneys argued back and forth with the judge over making additional inquiries. Patricia interrupted the discussion. “I don't want to be asked any more questions.”

“That answers that,” Judge Little said. “I get tired of it, too, sometimes.” She asked the deputies to escort Patricia and Allie out of the room. Before they exited, Turner asked, “Can I ask the girls one thing?”

“Sure,” the judge said.

“Girls, can I tell your mom that you love her?”

Patricia nodded and Allie said, “Yes.”

The judge commented on the obvious coaching of the two girls. Then she dismissed the court without setting a new date, deciding instead to await the outcome of the upcoming trial.

That evening, members of the Fourth Street Church of Christ met in the sanctuary for their regular Wednesday night service. Jeremy Weekley, who assumed Matt's position as pulpit minister the summer after his death, prayed for the church body to find strength to persevere in the weeks ahead. He made a special appeal for God's blessing on those among them who would testify at Mary Winkler's trial.

At the McNairy County Justice Center, they prepared for the media onslaught, setting up a designated room for their use. Inside the building, they replaced burned-out light bulbs, cleaned and made repairs. Outside, they spruced up the grounds, mowing the grass and trimming the shrubs. The sheriff reviewed security concerns and assigned tasks for the trial. A lot of people in Selmer were looking forward to when it would all be over—no one more than Sheriff Roten.

Anxiety ruled the day for the 160 county residents selected for the jury pool—some were eager to serve, others filled with dread. One willing man went out to the farmers' supply store and purchased an automatic goat feeder. He was certain he'd be chosen, and he didn't want his livestock going hungry. He didn't make the cut.

An unwilling candidate, who worked out of an office in her home, fretted over her wardrobe. “I don't have enough
nice clothes to last three weeks.” She didn't have to worry, she was not selected.

At least one person who received a summons was not anxious at all. Sharyn Everitt, who lived across the street from the Winklers on Mollie Drive, and once had a run-in with Matt over her dog, was certain she would not make the final panel. She was right.

The questioning began on the morning of Monday, April 9. They came in to face the attorneys seven at a time. They were asked about their knowledge of the case, their willingness to set aside pre-formed opinions and their ability to give Mary a fair trial. Other topics covered included domestic abuse, brainwashing, the appropriateness of lying to children and familiarity with firearms and gun safety. By the end of this first day, only fourteen prospective jurors had crossed that hurdle.

By the end of Tuesday, the count was up to forty-two, but that was not sufficient for Judge Weber McCraw—things had to move faster. He ordered that the groups be doubled in size for Wednesday's session to fourteen jurors at a time. His plan worked. By the end of court on Wednesday, a panel of sixteen was selected. Although four of the chosen were alternates, no one—not even the jurors themselves—would know who they were until it was time for deliberations to begin.

The group consisted of twelve women and four men. The state had eliminated prospective panelists of both genders. The defense reserved all of their strikes for males in the pool. The jurors ranged in age from 20 to 62, and were predominately white—only two were black, no surprise in a county where the population was 92 percent Caucasian. Among the group was a truck driver, a drafter, a machinist, two factory workers, a retired Baptist minister, a secretary, a teacher's aide and a handful of house wives.

The judge passed out an information sheet reminding them that they needed to be prepared when they returned to court in the morning. They should bring enough clothing and prescription medications for two weeks, make
sure their bills were all paid and arrange for mail pick-up in their absence. First thing in the morning, their real lives were put on hold.

Their temporary quarters were a mile from the courthouse at Southwood Inn. Televisions, telephones and radios were removed from their rooms. Even the newspaper box outside was shrouded with a black plastic garbage bag by order of Judge Weber McCraw.

They could not bring their cell phones or laptops. They were not allowed to visit the motel's breakfast room or leave the facility for any reason unless accompanied by authorities.

The expense of the trial for this county of less than 25,000 residents, with its low tax base, was staggering. The state government would pick up some of the bills, but they did not cover the overtime accrued by deputies having to guard the courtroom by day and the jurors by night. Nor did they cover the cost of the jurors' lodging. At $69 per night, the county's outlay there alone could easily exceed the ten-thousand-dollar mark before trial's end.

 

On Thursday, April 12, Mary Winkler entered the courtroom, with a cross around her neck, a wedding band on her finger and a prayer in her heart, to face the judgment of her peers.

Judge Weber McCraw stepped up behind the bench and brought Mary Winkler's trial to order. He had a thoughtful face framed by thinning, graying hair. Bushy eyebrows rested over brown eyes on a long oval face with full lips. By the end of every day, a heavy 5 o'clock shadow darkened his chin line.

Prosecutor Walt Freeland stepped before the podium in a gray suit and a gray, black and white striped tie to present the opening argument for the state. With his white hair, rounded shoulders and sagging face, he looked tired before he started.

“Why?” he asked the jury. “That was the last word spoken on this earth by Matthew Winkler, and his last word was addressed to the person he thought he could trust—his wife, the defendant Mary Winkler. And he said it as he lay dying on the floor of the bedroom of his own house in his own home in Selmer, McNairy County, Tennessee. He had been shot in the middle of the back as he lay sleeping in his bed by his own twelve-gauge shotgun.”

The lawyer introduced himself and his co-counsel, Michael Dunavant, the regional district attorney general, and then continued. “The state will not produce any evidence of any good reason why Matthew Winkler was murdered by Mary Winkler, because there is no good
reason why Matthew Winkler was murdered by Mary Winkler.

“The ‘Why?' question is a question that is used to develop suspects. There's more than a suspect in this case—the state's proof will be, there is a perpetrator, which we will show committed an unlawful act, a deliberate act and a premeditated act. What the state will prove is that Matthew Winkler was, in the words of Mary Winkler, ‘a mighty fine person.'

“…He finally had his own church—the Fourth Street Church of Christ in Selmer. Finally had his pulpit. He was only thirty-one years of age. He had met his wife Mary about ten years or so before at Freed-Hardeman, which is a Church of Christ school in Henderson. And in his career, he'd been in various places as a youth minister. He'd been in Baton Rouge in Louisiana, he had been near Nashville. He'd been in McMinnville—all as a youth minister.

“Finally, he had gotten his pulpit job here in Selmer, I believe, in about February 2005. He was a son, his parents were alive. He was a brother, he had two brothers. And he was the father of three precious little girls. He was a man, the proof will be, that did not deserve to be murdered.”

He talked about the discovery of the body, and locating Mary and the three girls. He then moved on to Mary's recorded conversation with law enforcement, which he planned to play in court. “And you will hear that Mary Winkler is very calm. She's not excited. She's not sad. She is—as the patrol officers described her upon the stop—she is stoic, which means she didn't show emotion.

“And you won't just have to rely on the testimony of the officers who stopped her, because you will hear her voice on this tape, and you will hear the general sort of questions asked about her rights, and did she understand those? And her comfort is mentioned, and she is supplied drinks.

“You will hear her several times say to Corporal Stan
Stabler, words to the effect, when she was asked questions, ‘No comment' or ‘I don't want to talk about that yet.' But the conversation progresses and she concedes—and this is the Thursday evening after the Wednesday morning shooting—she concedes that she had a good marriage. That there were no major, major problems. And she uses words that indicate that she was in control of this situation. She says words basically, ‘There's no
Poor me
. I'm in control.'”

“…You will hear her say that she has her nerves now, she's has her self-esteem and she guesses her ‘ugly' just came out. You will hear those words almost verbatim. And when asked her plans about what she planned to have done after this, she says, ‘I didn't have the money to go to Mexico, of course. I was coming back to west Tennessee. I was going to bring the children back to stay with the family.'

“And when she was asked, ‘Your parents?'

“‘No, the family. They're good people.' And she was talking about Matthew Winkler's family. She was talking about Poppa and Nana, and she was talking about, not her family, but Matthew's family.

“…She told Stan Stabler—you'll get to hear it on the audio—he was asking about how this happened, and if there was any thinking about it. You will hear her say, ‘I've been battling not to do that forever.' You will hear her on the tape when asked, she states it was not planned, but when asked if she had thought about doing it, she indicated to Stan Stabler that it ‘had crossed minds.'

“…Now, the state, I have told you, will not produce evidence of any good reason why Matthew Winkler was killed, because there is no good reason. However, the state will give you evidence to show that this was no accident. That this was a premeditated act, because of things that had been happening over which Mary Winkler was in control. Mary Winkler was in control of the family finances. Mary Winkler signed, if not every check, the overwhelming number of checks in this matter.”

Freeland described the financial problems, which included counterfeit checks and check-kiting by Mary, immediately before Matthew's death. “Many gullible people take the phony check and think they have won the lottery they never entered, and wire the money off to this non existent company and thereby lose money.

“The proof will be that Mary Winkler was not such a victim. She took the checks all right. She took several of them. And she deposited them in banks. And it was the bank's fault, obviously, but some of these were credited to her account. But she was not a victim, the state's proof will be, because unlike a real victim, she didn't fall for it, she didn't wire the money, she just took the phony checks and put them in the bank.

“…She set up an account in her name—her name only—in Henderson. She had as the contact, not as her home number on Mollie Drive, but her own cell phone number. She was the only one who ever had contact with that bank. The account was set up on February seventeenth of 2006. The state will give you evidence that six days before this…she had gotten a change of address at the Selmer post office directing that all mail come, not to Mollie Drive, but exclusively to her post office box. Again, the house of cards that she set up was falling down.

“There were telephone calls after telephone calls to Mary on March twenty-first from Regions Bank. ‘Mary, you have to come in.' ‘Mary, this is illegal, what you're doing.' ‘Mary, we can work it out, but you have to get Matthew to come in so that we can straighten it out. You are five thousand dollars overdrawn. You have got to have to get this straightened out.'

“…There was telephone call after telephone call saying, ‘Mary, you've got to come in tomorrow. You've got to bring in Matthew. We've got to get this straightened out.' Well,
tomorrow
was March twenty-second.
Tomorrow
was the day that Matthew got shot.

“…There will be evidence that she asked people at
Regions Bank before March twenty-second, perhaps the day before: ‘Can I take my husband off the account?'

“‘You can't take your husband off the account, because there is a negative balance.' This was not a good reason to kill Matthew Winkler, but the state's proof will be that it informed her mind and formed the intent that she had after her sleepless night on March twenty-first, knowing that that next day Matthew and she had to go to the bank and get her problems straightened out.”

 

Freeland summarized the ballistics and medical examiner's evidence and then said, “[Y]ou will hear evidence that there were seventy-seven number six steel birdshot recovered from Matthew's body. That shotgun blast blew apart his ribs. That it perforated his ribs, his lung, his diaphragm, his stomach, his spleen, his pancreas and his adrenal glands. That his ribs were fragmented and thrown throughout the inside of his body, causing him to bleed to death. And you will hear testimony from her that despite these massive injuries, that Matthew Winkler could have lived for several minutes after this. That the shot was from one to three feet from the end of the muzzle to his back.”

He informed the jury that they would hear testimony from Matthew's oldest daughter and what she saw on the morning of her father's death. “You will also hear testimony that some months later, months after this event, months after the charge, Mary is at an establishment in McMinnville. A man walks in and says, ‘We got a preacher killer here? Are you the lady who killed the preacher?' And you will hear testimony that she laughed and said, ‘You wanna be next?'”

At the defense table, Mary's mouth formed the word “Wow!”

“You will not be given a good reason why, but the state will show you ample evidence that Mary Winkler willfully, unlawfully and intentionally killed Matthew Winkler. A man that did not deserve to die.”

Freeland delivered even the most emotion-laden words in a matter-of-fact fashion. He addressed the predomi
nately female jury without passion or outrage. He seemed incapable of summoning the energy required to express animated concern for the 31-year-old man who was dead, or for the three little girls who no longer had a father.