The Pastor's Wife Page 2

  Documentation complete, they located, marked and collected evidence—keeping it, for the time, inside the home. In Patricia and Allie’s bedroom, testing revealed the presence of bloodstains on a pillow on each of the twin beds. The investigators confiscated both.

  In the master bedroom, they took swabs from under Matthew’s body and from the sheet on the bed. They bagged the sheet from the floor beside the victim.

  In the kitchen, they identified a smear of blood in the trash can and took a swab as evidence. They tagged three computers and various papers in other parts of the home for collection. They hoped to locate a possible murder weapon, but none was found.

  Chapter 3

  One of the church elders placed a phone call to the Freeman home in Knoxville. Mary’s father Clark woke to answer the beckoning ring. “Matthew’s been shot. He’s dead. Your daughter and the three girls are missing.” Clark was immediately certain they’d been kidnapped.

  Dan and Diane Winkler, Matthew’s parents, did not receive the frantic calls to their residence. They were vacationing in a rented cabin near Gatlinburg, a small town surrounded on three sides by the natural beauty of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

  They had awoken that Wednesday morning to a wispy, smoke-like fog winding its tendrils around the ridges on the border of Tennessee and North Carolina. Dan and Diane spent the day basking in the glory of God’s creation—a peaceful interlude of contemplation, spiritual renewal and celebration. Today, March 22, was Dan Winkler’s birthday.

  In the last hour of that lovely day, the shrill ring of the telephone jarred them out of their contentment. For Dan and Diane, like most everyone, a late-night call stirred up dread. No one would call at this time of night unless it was bad news.

  Their youngest son, Jacob, carried the burden of delivering the news of his brother’s death to his father. Dan had no time to absorb that horrific reality before Jacob hit him with another. Their son’s wife and their three little granddaughters were missing.

  Diane knew the news was bad by the expression on her husband’s face. When he hung up the phone, he turned to her. “Diane, you need to sit down.”

  “I don’t want to sit down. I want to know what’s going on.”

  “Matthew’s been shot.”

  “Is he okay? Where was he?” Diane asked in a panicked voice.

  “He’s at home. He’s been shot in the back.”

  “Danny, he’s okay, right? He’s okay?”

  Dan did not want to answer. He did not want to inflict pain on the woman who’d been by his side for so many years. The moment the words escaped his mouth, he couldn’t deny the truth to himself. “No. No, he’s not,” Dan said. “He’s dead.”

  Diane tried to call Mary’s cell phone, but got no answer. The two packed their bags as they made a series of calls to family members and friends. They did not want anyone to learn of this tragedy on television or in the newspaper over their first cup of morning coffee.

  They drove north to Interstate 40 and then headed west. They journeyed through the night, across the state on three hundred miles of tedious highway, their speeding car enveloped in darkness. When they reached the exit for State Route 22, they turned off and made the twenty-minute drive north to their home in Huntingdon.

  They stopped at the house just long enough to change from their mountain resort clothing to more somber and befitting attire. Then, they made the hour-and-a-half trip south to the police station in Selmer. If they hoped to find news of fresh developments, they were disappointed. The whereabouts of their grandchildren and daughter-in-law were still unknown. The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation continued to occupy their son’s home in a search for answers. And Matthew still lay bloody and lifeless on the floor of his own bedroom.

  Officers encouraged them to go home and wait, promising to call them if there was any news at all. Dazed, Dan and Diane drove back to Huntingdon to simmer in a stew of private agony, fear and prayer.

  Russell Ingle, staff writer for the Independent Appeal, a weekly newspaper published since 1902, and the oldest existing business in McNairy County, received a phone call about the murder early in the morning of Thursday, March 23, while he was driving to work. He headed over to Mollie Drive, where yellow crime-scene tape surrounded the home. When he arrived, the only other media presence was a satellite uplink truck from a television station in Memphis. Soon, the number of press on the scene would be legion.

  Russell spotted six marked and unmarked cars from the Selmer Police Department and TBI, as well as a white van from the State Medical Examiner’s Office. Inside the house, the local, part-time medical examiner, a physician in the PrimeCare office in nearby Adamsville, determined that a large-caliber weapon—possibly a shotgun—caused the wound in Matthew’s back. Russell watched from outside as the doctor supervised the removal of Matthew’s body from the home and into the van. The vehicle backed down the driveway, heading northeast to Nashville for an autopsy.

  Sharyn Everitt, unable to sleep, thought long and hard about what could have happened in the parsonage. By 2 A.M., she was convinced that Mary Winkler killed her husband and fled with the girls. Seconds after that epiphany, there was a knock on her front door. She greeted the first of many reporters.

  That morning, law enforcement filed a search warrant in McNairy County General Sessions Court. The judge authorized the seizure of computers and any other evidence from the Winkler home that could help investigators find Matthew’s missing family.

  Donna Nelson and her forensic team loaded three computers, a black binder filled with family budget information, pillows, pillowcases, a sheet, shotgun pellets, swabs from the garbage can, a box of unused checks, various letters and bills and a copy of a check found in a trash can in the backyard.

  All the serology evidence was taken to the lab in Memphis for further testing by team member Sanders. The computers headed to Nashville, where they were turned over to George Elliot for analysis in the lab there.

  TBI left a copy of the search warrant and a list of items removed from the home on the kitchen counter with a note from TBI Agent Brent Booth:

  The above described computers were found in the family home and found to have been used by someone in the home to communicate by e-mail with a person or persons unknown. The computers may hold information that could lead to the location of the missing Mary Winkler (mother) and the three children.

  A large check written from the Winkler account sent TBI investigators to Regions Bank in Selmer. They confirmed financial irregularities involving counterfeit checks. Mary’s status as a victim showed its first signs of fracture.

  TBI also obtained authorization for cell phone records and for a pen register—a tracking system that could pinpoint the general location of Mary’s device. Unless she turned it off, authorities could use her cell to sniff out her whereabouts.

  As law enforcement plunged into their investigation, the news flashed across the nation. Major networks and cable news channel sent reporters. Every local television station out of Memphis, Nashville and Jackson arrived in Selmer in their ponderous uplink trucks. The circus was in full swing.

  At 1 P.M., Selmer police blockaded Mollie Drive. Deprived of even a small glimpse of the Winkler home, the reporters and cameramen swarmed to the City Hall building that housed the police department on Second Street, downtown.

  Half an hour later, John Mehr of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation and Selmer Police Chief Neal Burks held their first press conference in front of City Hall. Mehr announced the joint operation to find Mary and the children. Working together, to this end, were members of the TBI, the local police department, the United States Marshals Service, the FBI, the postal inspector’s office and the Secret Service.

  Mehr and Burks provided the media with AMBER Alert information and computer links, urging them to inform the public that anyone who spotted the vehicle in question should call the local police department. “Do not approach the vehicle,” they cautioned. Investigators did no
t know if Mary and the girls were traveling alone or if they were the captives of an armed kidnapper. They promised the reporters regular briefings on the situation.

  After the news conference, an Atlanta journalist stirred up hostility when he stood on the front steps of City Hall bad-mouthing the victim. “He probably slapped her around,” he said.

  When he took it a step further by suggesting that Matthew’s relationship with his daughters may have been inappropriate, a local resident took umbrage. “You’re not from here, you didn’t know them!” he shouted. “How can you question someone you don’t even know?”

  The offices of the Independent Appeal sat catty-corner from City Hall, giving Russell Ingle a bird’s-eye view of the pandemonium. He knew the death of Matthew Winkler was a big story for his paper—he had no idea it would be that big for the world outside of Selmer. The first reporter to come knocking at his door worked for CNBC. Soon, a number of journalists were going in and out of the Appeal’s offices seeking professional courtesies like the use of the Internet to file stories.

  The demise of Matthew Winkler was not the only loss suffered by the Fourth Street Church of Christ on March 22, 2006. Another parishioner, Mary Anne Wilson King, a 49-year-old retired social worker and mother of two grown boys, passed away that day at the Methodist University Hospital in Memphis. She needed a bone marrow transplant to combat leukemia, but never got well enough to receive one. The church members’ grief at her passage at such a young age was only compounded by the discovery of the body of their young minister.

  News of the preacher’s death rippled through Selmer the old-fashioned way—by word of mouth. The sadness that took hold of the town came hand-in-hand with stark fear. Were Mary and the girls alive? Would they still be alive when they were found?

  At the Fourth Street Church of Christ, black ribbons hung from the front door. All day the church remained open, filled with a never-ending parade of parishioners and friends seeking solace with each other and peace in the sanctuary itself. Prayers for the safety of Mary and the girls rose from their hearts in a steady stream.

  In front of City Hall late that afternoon, officials again spoke to the media throng. It was a short press conference. There were no new developments. They reiterated their concern for the safety of Mary and her children, and their worry that someone else could be with them, holding them against their will. They still would not answer reporters’ questions about how Matthew died.

  Then the pen register that traced the activity on cell phones scored a hit. Mary—or at least her phone—was in the vicinity of Orange Beach, Alabama, a coastal city nearly 400 miles from Selmer.

  Chapter 4

  Brilliant white-sand beaches grace the Alabama seashore resort town of Orange Beach. It sits on a jutting peninsula where turquoise waters lap the sand with gentle waves.

  Although a small city of only 5,500 residents, it has experienced record growth in the last decade. In March of each year, the population swells with the addition of a steadily growing influx of spring breakers. The 2006 Surf & Turf Jet Ski event scheduled to begin on Friday added to the charged atmosphere in the resort town that week.

  Officer Jason Whitlock of the Orange Beach Police Department traveled the roads with Reserve Officer Stephen Jerkins. They received the AMBER Alert notice and the known details of the murder in the middle of their shift on Thursday, March 23. Whitlock didn’t know if he was looking for three children accompanied by a woman who shot her husband, or for a kidnapper with four victims. He did, however, know the precise vehicle he sought, including its license plate number.

  Near the end of the shift, Whitlock and Jerkins spotted a vehicle matching the description of the Winkler mini-van traveling westbound on Perdido Beach Boulevard. The driver made an illegal U-turn right in front of them, and they realized it bore the right license plate number. Whitlock followed it while Jerkins called in for back-up. Whitlock could not determine the presence of the children, nor could he tell with any certainty if the driver was the only adult inside.

  At 7:30 P.M., Officers Woodruff, Beaman and Long responded to the call for back-up and three marked police cars with flashing blue lights joined Whitlock and Jerkins. Whitlock pulled the mini-van over in the parking lot of the Winn-Dixie grocery store and they approached it with drawn guns. One officer knocked on the window and Mary rolled it down. The officers screamed at her, “Get out of the van! Get out of the van!”

  At the sound of raised voices, the two K-9 dogs on the scene barked and strained at their leashes. The three frightened little girls burst into tears. The officers shouted again, ordering Mary to step out of her vehicle, hold her hands up in the air and walk backwards toward them.

  She complied with hesitation, as if fearful she would do the wrong thing. Her flip-flops slapped the pavement as she approached the officers in her pink sweat suit. Whitlock snapped handcuffs on Mary’s wrists and Officer Travis Long put her in the back of his patrol car. He recited Miranda warnings. As Mary listened, she demonstrated no signs of distress. In fact, she appeared relieved.

  While Long secured Mary, Whitlock approached the Sienna van with caution and saw the three girls—they were alone. He tried to comfort and calm them.

  Allie said, “Our daddy is in the hospital. A bad man had robbed us in our house and hit our daddy. And Mommy and us ran from the man.” Then she added, “Mommy took a gun to protect us from the bad man.”

  Patricia repeated the same story. Long unfastened the restraining buckles on the seat belts of the two littlest girls, speaking to them in a soft, soothing voice and removed all three from the mini-van, placing them in the back seat of a patrol car.

  In another police vehicle, Officer Long asked Mary if she had any relatives in the area who could take care of the children while she went to the police station for questioning. She said she did not, but gave him the names and telephone numbers of her in-laws in Huntingdon, Tennessee. Throughout the conversation, Mary never asked why he detained her. She never mentioned a thing about her husband. There were no signs of sadness or dread. Long found her lack of emotion odd as he transported her to the city jail.

  Lieutenant Investigator Steve Brown arrived on the scene and gave the authorization to detain Mary, and Whitlock and Jerkins climbed back into their patrol car. Whitlock looked back at Mary and saw her blank stare—a face devoid of emotion. He thought Mary appeared exhausted and maybe even relieved that her flight was now over. When he drove off to transport her to the city jail, Mary lay down in the back seat and immediately fell asleep. She did not say a word along the way. Of the $500 she had when she left home, just $123 remained.

  Learning that the girls had been on their way to the Waffle House for dinner when the van was stopped, the officers took them to McDonald’s to eat. Afterwards, at the station house, they gave the children stuffed animals to cuddle. Officers’ wives came in and kept the children busy watching movies and playing games.

  Informed that Mary was in the custody of the Orange Beach police, Corporal Stan Stabler, agent with the Alabama Bureau of Investigation, arrived at the police station around 10 P.M. First, he spoke with 8-year-old Patricia and 6-year-old Allie.

  Patricia told him that she heard a loud noise and went to her parents’ bedroom. “I thought Daddy fell and knocked over the night stand.” She saw her father lying face down on the floor and heard him say, “Call 9-1-1.”

  As Stabler was leaving the room, Patricia stopped him and asked his name, saying that she wanted to put him on “my list of people I talk to.” Stabler stifled the surge of emotion he felt, and promised to return a little later and help her with the spelling.

  Chapter 5

  Back in Selmer, Agent John Mehr and Police Chief Neal Burks stepped out of the station to speak with the media. Mehr said, “Just in the last few minutes, we’ve gotten news that they’ve been stopped in Orange Beach, Alabama, by the Orange Beach Police Department. The wife and the three children are okay, and we are sending a team of agents to Alabama at this
time, and working with the Orange Beach Police Department to go through the van and see what the other details are.” He offered no answers to reporters’ questions, but said, “We’re happy that the children and her are alive and well.”

  The word quickly traveled to the church members gathered in the sanctuary for a special service they’d called to pray for the safe return of the preacher’s wife and his daughters.

  With Special Agent Steve Stuesher from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Stabler entered the interrogation room, starting the tape recorder and beginning his interview with Mary Winkler at 9:55 P.M. He observed his subject carefully, looking for any signs of intoxication. Seeing none, he read the waiver of rights form to her. Mary agreed to sign it.

  After getting basic biographical information, he assured Mary that her children were fine. “They’ve had McDonald’s, they ate and they’re wrapped up in blankets, warm, watching a movie.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said with a smile.

  “They’re concerned about Mom. I told them you were fine, and we were fixing to come in here and talk with you, too.” Stabler moved on with the questioning. “How long have you been married?”

  “Nine years, eleven months,” Mary said.

  “How was your marriage?”

  “Good.”

  Noticing Mary’s mouth appeared dry, he inquired about her thirst and got her water, at her request. He gave her time to stand and stretch, then resumed in earnest. “Is that a little better?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, great. All right. We’ll kind of pick up from where we left off, okay? So you’ve been married nine years and eleven months? Okay, and, now, I’ve been married seventeen years myself, and it’s not my first marriage. Is this your first marriage?”