On Sunday, August 13, murder struck McNairy County once again. The community was stunned. One homicide a year was unusual—and now they had two in less than six months. Law enforcement found 22-year-old Ruth Sigrist dead from a shot to the head in a friend’s home in the nearby town of Bethel Springs—the ugly result of a love triangle gone bad. On Monday, they arrested Bonda Cummings and charged her with negligent homicide. Exactly one year later—on August 14, 2007—Bonda was found guilty and sentenced to three years.
That same day, Mary’s attorneys continued their dance with authorities to gain their client’s release from jail. Finally, on Tuesday, all the hurdles were cleared. Family and friends gathered in the lobby of the McNairy County Justice Center. The moment Mary stepped through the door, she was folded in her father’s embrace—the first time he hugged his daughter since Christmas. When Dorothy Weatherford, among the crowd of well-wishers, saw her friend in real clothes—a black skirt, striped top and black flats—for the first time in months, she smiled. The two women hugged. “Keep in touch with me, Mary,” Dorothy said. Mary nodded and reached out to grasp the hands of her lawyers.
They took her first into the court clerk’s office. The staff there was a bit baffled. Why did they want her to see us and us to see her? They plastered awkward smiles on their faces and said, “Hello.” When Mary and her attorneys just stood there, the confusion of the county employees increased. What do they want? Do they expect us to go up and hug her?
At 11:55 A.M., Mary walked out the front doors of the Justice Center flanked by her attorneys Steve Farese and Leslie Ballin. They stopped to speak to reporters. Mary’s head remained bowed as the two men spoke for her, explaining the conditions of her release. “We would specifically request of all the press—not just the ones here today, but the magazines, the newspapers, the national press—please respect her privacy as they have respected the privacy of the Winkler family,” Farese asked.
They walked Mary to her father’s car and faced the reporters again, answering questions about their client. “Her emotional state is fragile, but it’s a new world and a new day for her today. Certainly, she’s apprehensive. But I think as the days go, just as she became acclimated to jail, she’ll become acclimated to the free world. She will have to get used to carrying a purse again. She mentioned that today,” Farese said with a rueful smile.
When asked about Mary’s visitation with her children, he said, “There has been some disagreement there, which you would understand in any custody arrangements, but we’ll try to work through those issues as far as weekly telephone calls and, hopefully, visits as often as possible.”
A reporter asked about Mary’s monitoring by Warren County probation officials. “Mary will report to a state probation officer in McMinnville immediately,” Farese answered. “She will make that call tonight. If she gets there after hours, she will leave a message. She will call back tomorrow.”
Another journalist asked, “Will she start work at the dry cleaners immediately or will she have some down time?”
Leslie Ballin fielded that question. “We’ll play that by ear. That’s not a decision that either Steve or I would be involved in. Whatever she feels is best for her. She’s going to have some adjusting to do.”
Follow-up inquiries dealt with Mary’s ability to weather negative reactions from folks in McMinnville. Ballin said, “We told her to go forward, keep her head high, although she didn’t today.
“She did not come out here and jump for joy that she’s out on bond, as you might expect from someone being locked up for almost five months now. But she came out and displayed the calm, meek person that I know her to be. Preparing her for the unknown, we talked about living her life as normally as possible.”
Chapter 29
Clark Freeman drove off with his daughter in his ’94 Cadillac, taking her straight to her former home on Mollie Drive to pick up clothing and other personal items. It was a strange experience for Mary to enter that empty house.
The sound of children, playing and laughing, squabbling and crying, once filled the four walls. Now, all that remained was a dusty silence. The two dogs who once welcomed her with yips of joy were now living with her sister in Knoxville. In their absence, nothing greeted her but the dark memories of a distant day.
The last time she’d passed over the threshold, her husband of ten years lay dying on the bedroom floor. Now his body was gone and all signs of his blood were washed away by the ardent ministrations of Bio-recovery Solutions. Here and there were pockets of dishevelment, and empty spaces where computers or portraits once stood, all evidence of the law enforcement search.
Mary went straight to the laundry hamper and lifted the lid. She dug through the dirty clothes and pulled out a shirt belonging to Matthew. She held it to her face. She inhaled deeply. She remembered his presence, his touch, the love they once shared. Now it was gone. But even the pull of the trigger could not take those memories away.
As if she were rewinding the hands of time, Mary followed the same roads, in reverse, that she’d journeyed with Matthew a year-and-a-half before, when they moved to Selmer for a new and better life. Now she returned to McMinnville to begin again—but this time, she was alone.
Mary did, however, have someone keeping an eye on her—her new probation officer Donna Dunlap. She would meet with Donna every week until the commencement of the trial.
She moved in with Kathy and Rudy Thomsen and their son in a home on Fairview Road perched atop a hill on the outskirts of a congested downtown. At first, she kept to herself, coming out of her room for meals, but little more. In a short while, though, she integrated into their family life. She developed a playful relationship with the Thomsens’ teenaged son. She called him her “big little brother.” He called her his “shorter older sister.”
Mary entered Cleaners Express, where she once was a customer. She now was an employee of owners Paul Pillow and Matt Hash. She had a great manner with customers, and even many who didn’t know her loved catching a glimpse of her timid smile. She still had many friends in town, and they came in to greet her, often bringing their dry-cleaning business there. Some friends brought gifts to Mary. Others gave her cash. Occasionally, Mary encountered hostility from a customer, but Paul watched over her and was always ready to jump in and shield her from harsh words and ugly glares.
She didn’t talk at work about what happened to Matthew. But every now and then, she’d mention his name in conversation. If they were talking about a particular food, she might say, “Matthew really likes that.” Or if a television show was mentioned, she might say, “That was one of Matthew’s favorites.”
Mary resumed attendance at Central Church of Christ. On the first Sunday, people lined up outside to hug Mary when she arrived. Tears glistened on her cheeks as she made her way into the sanctuary.
It was a large congregation, though, with nearly 600 members. With the addition of Mary, it became a divided one. Not everyone was pleased to have her in their midst—even people in the same family were on opposite sides when it came to the question of Mary. Some welcomed her with open arms. Others struggled with Christ’s admonition to forgive and to judge not. The latter were looking for a demonstration of remorse or an act of contrition from Mary, and found none.
The problem was magnified because so many church members had known Matthew, had great respect for his work as youth minister and remembered him fondly. Mary quietly left the dissension there behind, attending services at the smaller Arlington Church of Christ.
She socialized a bit, going to lunch with friends and having dinner at the home of former neighbor Evon Dennis, across from where Mary and Matthew lived on Franklin Street. She returned to the chair of her beautician, Stephanie Fann, who regularly cut the hair of Mary and the girls—and occasionally Matthew—when they used to live in McMinnville.
Mary’s sister drove to the Thomsen home to re unite Mary with Lady and Lucy Lou. The dogs filled a tiny piece of the emptiness in Mary’s heart. But a f
amily visit raised a new dilemma. There was no extra room in the Thomsen home—where could her family stay when they visited?
JoAn and Dewey Cantrell came to the rescue. When JoAn’s mother passed on, she’d inherited her house, complete with furniture. Occasionally, they had one of their grown children in the home for a short period of time, or visitors from out of town stayed there for a weekend, but for the most part, it sat vacant and neglected. Nothing had been done to it in years. They offered it to Mary.
The court mandate required that Mary live with Kathy Thomsen, so she couldn’t move into the Cantrell house, but it would be the perfect place for visiting family to stay. Mary spent her free time there, keeping busy, fixing it up for company. She cleaned every room, scrubbing the woodwork, scouring the sinks, chasing away dust bunnies and cobwebs. She picked out colors, painted every room and added personal decorating touches.
When she was finished, the transformation surprised and delighted JoAn. There was one thing, though, that made JoAn uneasy. Scattered about the home were Mary’s family pictures, including many photographs of Matthew. She averted her eyes from his image. After all that had happened, the presence of Matthew’s face in Mary’s home “just seemed too weird.”
Chapter 30
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.
Chapter 31
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 rushe
d 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.
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