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Tragedy next door lands hard on her doorstep
By JAMIE JONES, Times Staff Writer SPRING HILL -- Tonia Stinson remembers wiping the tears from her blue eyes as she walked into her 5-year-old son's bedroom. "Listen, Colby," she said quietly, kneeling beside him. "Mr. Mike has gone to heaven." Colby was confused. Mr. Mike was his neighbor, Michael Altieri: A man who taught him about cars and knew about tools and sometimes called Colby "Superman." He was the father of Colby's two best friends, the girls who lived next door. "A bad man hurt Mr. Mike," Stinson said. Colby paused. "Is the bad man coming here?" No, she replied. Slowly, she continued. "The bad man, Colby? It was Daniel. He was on drugs and did a very bad thing." Colby was quiet for a moment. "I wish the bad man wasn't Daniel," he said. Stinson began to cry. The 40-year-old learned Tuesday that the man she had once loved, Daniel Wingard, had been accused of killing her next door neighbor, stabbing his wife and abducting their 12-year-old daughter as her younger sister watched. Authorities told her that Wingard had broken into her home earlier that night to kill her. If she hadn't been at work, Sheriff Rich Nugent said, Tonia Stinson might be dead. Stinson first met Wingard at a Christian camp out on a warm September afternoon. She had just finished taking the state board exam for nursing and decided to spend the weekend in Weeki Wachee with a friend. Wingard was charming and handsome, with blond hair and green eyes. He seemed humble, honest and considerate. She got to know the carpenter, who lived in Hudson at the time. He had a good job, a nice house and loving relatives. He always had money and nice cars. But she also knew about his dark side. He told her about his struggles with drug addiction. He said he had been clean for six years. She learned later that he had lied, as he did about so many things, Stinson said Friday in an interview at her Shalimar Avenue home. The couple dated and she often made the three-hour trip from her Cape Coral home to see him. Stinson was raising her child alone and fell in love with Wingard's devotion. Her child is from a previous relationship. Last May, she decided to move in with Wingard. She quit her job, left family and friends and drove her son north to Spring Hill. They rented a house with a pool on a quiet street off Cortez Boulevard. She had doubts about living in the area. "I used to tell my friends that my train wrecked in Spring Hill," Stinson recalled."They would ask, where is Spring Hill? I would say, "Exactly.' " She had faith in her new life, but that soon faded. The couple fought. Wingard would open a beer, and then another, and would not stop until he was completely out of his mind, Stinson said. Soon, she learned he was using crack cocaine and cheating on her. Wingard screamed at her sometimes, Stinson said. He would get a crazy look in his eyes, she said. He's insane, she thought. "He has a phenomenal temper," she said. "I thought it could be worked on. I thought, no one is perfect. . . . At times, I wondered what kind of mistake I had made." She worried about her son. Wingard had not yet unpacked all of his boxes when she asked him to leave after three weeks. He was enraged; she stood firm. After he left in June, Wingard harassed her for three months, Stinson said. She called the Sheriff's Office and asked about a restraining order, but deputies told her they could not help unless he had hurt her. Somehow, it seems, Wingard found out about that call. One summer evening, she said, he knocked on her door. She refused to let him in. Wingard told her a relative had been in a car wreck, and Stinson became worried. She opened the door. That act of deception foreshadowed the violent attack that would come against the Altieris. Wingard moved toward her, saying, as she recalls: "I could put one hand around your neck and squeeze the life out of you." "I don't spook easily," she told the Times. "I'm a nurse in the ER. I see a lot of terrible things. That night, I was worried." Deputies came. Be a man, they told Wingard. He left that night, but kept calling, drove by the house and banged on her door, Stinson said. She thought about moving. "I decided I was going to stay here," Stinson said. "I wasn't going to come because of Daniel and leave because of Daniel. I thought this would be a great place to raise my son." Stinson got a job as a nurse for Bayonet Point Medical Center. She enrolled her son in preschool, karate classes and T-ball. She also got to know the family next door. She and Silvana Altieri saw each other outside and talked. Soon, their children began to play together. The women drank coffee as they watched Mrs. Altieri's 12-year-old daughter lead her 7-year-old sister and Colby around. They followed her like little ducklings, Stinson recalled. When Colby awaited the bus on his first day of preschool, the Altieri family helped see him off. Colby felt like such an important man as they snapped pictures, Stinson said. Once, Colby picked up his toolbox and said he was going to see "Mr. Mike." Later, Stinson looked outside. From beneath the car, she saw two pair of legs, one big, one little, as they worked side by side. The families spent time together every day, and started having pizza night on Thursdays. In November, Stinson woke on her birthday to a knock on the door. The Altieris summoned her for cake and a present, a new pastel colored coffee mug. Once, Stinson had switched shifts with a co-worker and the Altieris didn't know she was home. Mr. Altieri trudged over the little hill between their houses and knocked on Stinson's door. They shared a knowing smile. His wife always had to know what was going on, they joked. Several weeks ago, her niece's 2-year-old daughter locked herself in Stinson's bedroom. The Altieri children were there, and they insisted they could get her out with their "magic key," Stinson recalled. She waited patiently until the magic failed, and Mrs. Altieri came over and started playing peekaboo with the 2-year-old, Stinson recalled. They summoned Mr. Altieri, who scooped up Stinson's son. He called him Superman and said he was going to save the day by flying through the bathroom window and unlocking the door. "It was always like that," Stinson said through tears. "Just happy memories." In those moments, Stinson felt lucky. "I just thought that this was more than I had ever hoped for," Stinson recalled. "I don't believe in perfect, but this was close to it." Stinson had confided in Mrs. Altieri about Wingard, and they had worked out a code. Altieri would pick up the phone and if Stinson said "call," she would dial 911. "They were always protecting me," Stinson said. "Daniel didn't like it." When the couple lived together, she recalled, Wingard said the Altieris believed they were better than everyone else. "They are," Stinson told him. Stinson thinks Wingard made a pass at Mrs. Altieri and said he had several confrontations with them. "It's just insane to think that this has happened," Stinson said quietly. "I keep waking up and thinking what I'm going through is a nightmare. . . . There's no excuse for what Daniel has done. Is he ever going to realize what he's done?" For her, guilt comes in waves. "I think, thank God I wasn't there," she said. "Thank God Colby wasn't here. But then I think, Michael was. I think those thoughts instantly at the same time. I'm devastated and grateful at the same time."
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