Smoke, Mirrors, and Murder

free. The rumors that circulated only brought more questions with no answers.
    But west Tennessee and the rest of America would soon hear the fine points of both sides. McNairy County Circuit Court judge Weber McCraw set Mary Winkler’s murder trial for April 9, 2007.
     
    As Mary Winkler’s trial approached, even spring in McNairy County turned bleak. Crape myrtles and azaleas bloomed right on time, and farmers watched the first green sprouts of their early wheat plantings burst from the soil, only to lose their crops to a killing frost. Flowering shrubs froze, too, and the whole area seemed blighted.
    But by the next week, the weather had turned warm and sunny. The Winkler trial was to be held at the McNairy County Justice Complex in a courtroom that can hold about a hundred spectators, and interest ran high, of course. A few local restaurants showed their entrepreneurial spirit by offering hot lunches and sandwiches, delivered to the Justice Complex so that the media army and trial attendees wouldn’t have to leave to eat.
    The complex was built in 1994, and Judge McCraw’s courtroom was far more modern than many of Tennessee’s county justice hubs. Although the wood was the ubiquitous oak of most courtrooms, the room was carpeted in blue, the walls were a light mauve, and the jury sat in comfortably padded rose-covered chairs that swiveled when they turned to look at the defense table, on the right, or the prosecution, closer to where they sat. Unfortunately, the acoustics were poor, and those in the gallery had to strain to hear testimony.
    No one would want to miss a single word in this trial.
    District Attorney General Michael Dunavant and Assistant District Attorney General Walt Freeland were representing the State, and Mary’s dream team of Steve Farese and Leslie Ballin was there to fight for her freedom. Before the trial began, Dunavant announced that the State would not seek the death penalty. This seemed to set well with everyone; during man-on-the-street interviews in McNairy County, not even her detractors said they wanted to see Mary die for what she had done.
    Jurors had several choices. They could find her guilty of first-degree murder, which meant fifty-one years in prison, and that Mary Winkler would be eighty-four years old before she was eligible for parole. But there were lesser included offenses that would mean far shorter prison terms: second-degree murder, carrying at least a twenty-year sentence; voluntary manslaughter with three to six years in prison; reckless homicide, with two to four years; or criminally negligent homicide, for which the sentence would be only one to three years behind bars.
    It took three days for a jury to be winnowed out from a pool of 160 possibles—not so long considering the massive amount of pretrial publicity. Of the twelve jurors and two alternates, a dozen were women. Some people think that women jurors will go easier on a female defendant, but that isn’t necessarily true. Women tend to think, “What would I have done if it happened to me?” And the vast majority of women—albeit not all—don’t turn to violence in domestic disputes. Male jurors are not as likely to see themselves as victims, but may often view a tiny, vulnerable defendant as pitiable.
    Only time would tell. The jurors ranged in age from twenty to sixty-two, and eleven of them were churchgoers, although none stipulated the Church of Christ. Most were Baptists, two were Catholics. The majority were Caucasian; two were African American.
    The jurors chosen were a fair representation of the citizens of McNairy County. They would be sequestered, although after so much publicity it seemed a little like locking the barn door after the horse has run away.
    One potential juror was excused quickly when she said that the Winklers had been her neighbors and that Matthew had once threatened to kill her dog if it came in his yard again.
    Steve Farese and Leslie Ballin submitted a list of forty-four potential witnesses, while DA Walt Freeland listed only thirteen.
    The woman on trial scarcely resembled the image of Mary Winkler at her arraignment thirteen months earlier. Then, she had seemed a timid child; now she held her head up, carried a briefcase, and often strode into court ahead of Farese and Ballin. She had had dozens of hours of therapy, received many, many letters of support from around the country, and was bolstered by her attorneys.
    In opening statements on April 12, Walt Freeland