In 2003, Matthew got the opportunity to earn additional money by teaching Bible classes at the Boyd Christian School. This private institution covered all levels of lower education from pre-kindergarten through the twelfth grade. Students received Bible instruction each school day.
The goal of the state-accredited school was to provide a quality education with more course offerings than available in public schools, and to do so in a more disciplined and safer environment. All high-schoolers studied a college preparatory curriculum. The school did not offer alternative paths, like technical or business, for a diploma. In addition to their education, the faculty fostered the students’ spiritual development and growth.
Matthew was a welcome addition to the school. His students called him “Wink” and, although they knew he demanded that they study hard and behave, he also brought a lot of fun into the classroom. He was a creative and engaging teacher.
He got along well with the staff, too. Linda Love, an English, Journalism and foreign language teacher, said that he was a charismatic man, and a loving and doting father. She told The Jackson Sun, “Every time he talked, he had something positive to say about the kids, something positive to say about his family. He often commented on the girls, Patricia and Allie. He would tell about cute things they did.” She added that he was always true to himself and never put on airs. “He had such a young heart, but an old soul.”
She believed the Winkler couple had a wonderful relationship. She recalled Matthew and Mary trading affectionate looks on the General Jackson Showboat on the Cumberland River at a Christmas party sponsored by Super D drug store. “They seemed very loving, very close. It was a chilly night and I saw him wrap his coat around her.”
Robert Jefferies, minister of the Smyrna Church of Christ in McMinnville, had a high opinion of Matthew and his relationship with his wife, too. Matthew worked with his congregation on several occasions, earning their affection and respect. He remembered once arriving at the Winkler home with Matthew. “We had come over just as she was getting ready to head back out to work,” he told reporter Tonya Smith-King. “They hugged and kissed one another goodbye.”
The older congregants at Central Church of Christ didn’t have as much contact with Matthew as the younger ones did. Nonetheless, many had fond memories of his years at the church. Unlike some youth ministers, Matthew had time and a kind word for everyone.
Some people, though, saw another side of Matthew. Lori Boyd, the church secretary for part of Matthew’s tenure at Central, worked at the main desk. Matthew’s office was down a narrow hallway. At first, she felt he was extremely nice, but as time went by, she said, he became “mentally and emotionally berating and demanding, and hard to work with.” She felt he looked down on her.
Matthew obviously was not satisfied with her job performance. He’d order her to do certain tasks. When she made excuses, he said, “You will have this done when I say so.”
Lori was also aware of a “strained tension” in the office when Mary dropped by the church. Most of the time, she could not hear the words spoken between the two, but she could hear the sound of a deep rumbling voice echoing up the hall and she thought that it was filled with anger.
Mary frequently brought a fast food lunch to share with Matthew. Lori noticed a number of times that when Mary left the building, her lunch remained untouched on Matthew’s desk. On one occasion, she heard Matthew say, “You’re getting a little larger than you need to be. You don’t need to have this food, Mary.”
Lori was appalled. She confronted Matthew after Mary left. “Those are things I was hoping you wouldn’t say to your wife. You’re a man of God. You are supposed to be a leader of us. And you are supposed to lead by example.”
There was another thing about Matthew that bothered Lori. As with many married working couples, Matthew and Mary’s employment schedules overlapped from time to time. When that happened, Matthew brought Patricia and Allie to the church with him. If he had to leave on business, he locked the two girls in his office. Lori thought that the girls should go downstairs to the day care center to play with children there, or be allowed to roam the offices spending time with her and the pulpit minister. But Matthew justified locking them in by saying, “I want my kids to be safe.”
Jonathan Allen, a member of Matthew’s youth group, had nothing but praise for Matthew in his ministerial role. He did, however, recall Matthew yelling at Mary, but never heard Mary yell back at him. He noticed that Mary always seemed to do everything Matthew told her to do.
Congregant Rudy Thomsen said that his respect for Matthew faded one Sunday. He and his wife Kathy were sitting in the pews waiting for the start of morning worship service when Matthew, Mary and the girls entered the sanctuary. Mary had a black eye. This concerned Rudy enough that he asked Mary about it.
Mary said, “I was horsing around with the girls and one of them jabbed me in the eye with her elbow.”
Rudy was skeptical of her response, but gave her the benefit of the doubt until one day at a church supper. Mary was in the fellowship hall flitting from table to table, smiling and chatting with everyone she met. Then, Matthew entered the room. Mary stopped talking, hung her head and took her seat, Rudy said. From that moment on, he no longer believed Mary’s explanation for her black eye. He wondered just what was going on behind the preacher’s closed doors.
Another person wondering was Paul Pillow, one of the owners of Cleaners Express, a business patronized by Mary. He said that in doing business together, his friendship grew with Mary over time, as it did with many of his regular customers. Although he enjoyed his interactions with her, he said that there was an unsettling nervous ness about Mary. “She always seemed to be looking over her shoulder.”
Mary often brought in the comforter from her bed with blood on it. She blamed her part-poodle, part-Maltese dog for the stain. He told her that she was going to have to keep the dog off of the bed. “Mary, you’re going to wear this thing out cleaning it so much.”
Mary chuckled and Paul laughed along with her. In retrospect, he wondered if there was a more sinister explanation. But at the time, the thought never crossed his mind.
He was privy to one family secret unbecoming of a minister and his wife. Mary was a secret smoker. Matthew dipped and chewed. Mary picked up her cigarettes and Matt’s Skoal at a store where she thought she wouldn’t be recognized.
Another person who didn’t share in the admiration most had for Matthew was Sergeant Jimmy Jones of the Tennessee Highway Patrol. He moved into the neighborhood when his grandmother, a sixty-year resident of Franklin Street, was in poor health.
On August 19, 2003, it appeared that the end was near. Family started gathering at her home. Mary came over to check on his 92-year-old grandmother, as she often did. Later, he was standing outside with some family members, when he noticed Matthew moving in their direction. He thought, at first, that this man of the cloth was coming over to inquire about his grandmother, too. But, as Matthew crossed the street, he appeared upset.
Matthew stepped into the yard, but did not approach the group. He stood at a distance, waving his arms and shouting about the barking of a small dog that was keeping him awake. Jimmy was distressed by Matthew’s behavior at this delicate time. He later nicknamed him “the Tasmanian Devil.” Jimmy’s grandmother passed away the next day.
But Evon and Bob, who saw a lot of the Winklers, never sensed that anything was amiss. Even looking back, they can’t spot a single red flag.