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Hey, it's Carter. If you're enjoying Murder True Crime Stories, there's a new Crime House show for you to check out. It's called the Final Hours, hosted by Sarah Turney and Courtney Nicole. Sarah is an advocate for missing and murdered victims whose own sister disappeared in 2001. And Courtney is a true crime storyteller who has seen firsthand how crime can change a family forever. Together, they bring lived experience to every case, examining the moments just before a person disappears. The routines, the timelines, the small details that often get overlooked because every disappearance has a moment where everything still feels normal. Until it doesn't. Listen to and follow the Final Hours on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. New episodes drop every Monday. This is crime house. Mark Twain once said, never discuss politics or religion in polite company. It's a lesson we've all been taught at one point or another. In school, we're told the two subjects should be kept separate. At home, we're advised not to argue with strangers about either topic. But in practice, the line isn't so clear, especially if a crime takes place that involves both issues. In 1980, officials in Toledo, Ohio were faced with this very dilemma. That year, a 71 year old nun named Margaret Ann Paul was killed in a hospital chapel. Her death rocked the Toledo community. Margaret was beaten, violated, and posed in what looked like some kind of satanic ritual. The police couldn't make heads or tails of the scene, but eventually they landed on a strong suspect. If the police were on the right track, it meant this person wasn't just a killer. They were a wolf in sheep's clothing. And they deceived one of the most powerful organizations in the world. People's lives are like a story. There's a beginning, a middle, and an end. But you. You don't always know which part you're on. Sometimes the final chapter arrives far too soon. And we don't always get to know the real ending. I'm Carter Roy and this is True Crime Stories, a Crime House original powered by Pave Studios. New episodes come out every Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, with Friday's episodes covering the cases that deserve a deeper look. Thank you for being part of the Crime House community. Please rate, review and follow the show and for early ad free access to every episode. Subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. This is the first of two episodes on the 1980 murder of 71 year old Sister Margaret Ann Paul. Please note this episode contains descriptions of sexual violence. Please listen with care. Today I'LL tell you how. Margaret found her passion through the Catholic Church and her work at Mercy Hospital in Toledo, Ohio. For decades, she served the public as a nurse, an administrator and a spiritual advisor. Then one day before Easter, someone targeted her in the worst way possible and turned a sacred space into a crime scene. Next time, I'll follow the controversial investigation and explain why the case eventually went cold. It would take another two decades for the truth to come out. And when it did, it put the Catholic Church under a microscope that shook it to its core. All that and more coming up. Margaret Ann Paul always knew she had a higher calling. She was born over a century ago in 1908, on a wheat farm. Looking back now, she practically grew up in a different world. Every weekday morning, she traveled to a one room schoolhouse in the nearby village of Edgerton, Ohio. But before class started, she had to milk the cows and chop logs for her family's wood burning stove. In the fall, she and her eight siblings spent their afternoons shucking grain after the harvest. It was hard work, but Margaret rarely complained. Her parents remembered her as a quiet, intelligent and humble girl. The thing she looked forward to most was going to church every Sunday. Some of her relatives were priests and nuns, and Margaret was inspired by their devotion. As far back as elementary school, she knew she wanted to join a convent and serve God. She put her dream into motion on September 24, 1927, when she was 19 years old. That day, Margaret arrived at the Sisters of Mercy Convent in Fremont, Ohio. It was a Catholic order whose mission was to help poor folks all over the world. And for the next five years, Margaret spent all her time at the sanctuary, praying, training and preparing herself for a tough but rewarding life of service. In 1932, 24 year old Margaret took her final vows. She promised to be obedient, chaste, and most importantly, to serve the poor, sick and uneducated. One way the Sisters of Mercy lived up to that pledge was to help run schools and hospitals. Not long after taking her vows, Margaret began training as a student nurse. It only took a few years for her to vault up the ladder at every hospital she was assigned to. In many ways, Margaret was a model nun, the epitome of an old school, uncompromising Catholic. In public, she was stern and blunt, but always reliable. She spent nearly every waking hour doing her work and serving God. The closest thing she had to a hobby was listening to opera music. The booming instruments and voices moved her almost as much as the gospel. And she took it just as seriously, too. Once, Margaret played a piece of opera on the stereo and asked a newer nun, Sister Shirley Lucas, if she liked it. When Sister Shirley said she loved Elvis's rendition of How Great Thou Art, Margaret's lip curled. She told Shirley that good Catholics should never listen to rock and roll. Elvis was far too provocative. By 1959, Sister Margaret was 51 and had spent over half her life caring for the sick. During that time, she bounced around different hospitals in her home state, working as a head nurse, a hospital supervisor and a senior administrator. Margaret was undeniably good at her job and kept at it for as long as she could. It wasn't until 1971, at age 63, that she was finally ready for a little less responsibility. Even then, she didn't stop working entirely. Instead, she took up a post at Mercy Hospital in Toledo, Ohio. There she took care of the hospital's chapel, cleaning it and getting it ready for the daily 6am Mass. She and the rest of the nuns stayed on the top floor of the main building, living, working and worshiping in one place. Every morning, Margaret woke up at dawn to prepare the candles, holy water and communion wafers for the day. Even after she started to slow down and lose her hearing in her late 60s, she made sure to keep the place spotless. The schedule was demanding, but it took the kind of quiet devotion Sister Margaret lived for. This was how she helped people. This was how she answered the calling she'd heard as a little girl all those years ago. Besides her, there were several other nuns who worked at the hospital. And while Margaret was always pleasant and happy to make brief small talk, she never became close with any of them. Margaret was a solitary person and that was how she liked it. But because her job involved preparing for services every morning, she did get to know the chapel priests better than anyone else. There were two who worked at Mercy, Father Jerome Shafioentecki and Father Gerald Robinson. Of the two, Father Sifioni Teki was the easiest to talk to. A large, cheerful man with a booming voice, he had a way of taking people's minds off their troubles. Meanwhile, 42 year old father Robinson couldn't have been more different. He was small, distant and practically as quiet as Sister Margaret. And though she and Father Robinson were pretty similar, they didn't get along very well. Everyone in the hospital knew he found her blunt honesty and perfectionism irritating. Still, they didn't have any kind of ongoing feud in public. Sister Margaret more or less got along with both priests, and no one, not even Father Robinson, could fault her work ethic. Even at 71 years old, she was a valued member of the staff. That said, Sister Margaret enjoyed a break now and then. And on April 5, 1980, her alarm rang a little later than usual. It was the day before Easter, one of the rare occasions the hospital chapel didn't hold a morning Mass, just an afternoon one. Margaret took full advantage of the freedom to sleep a whole extra half hour, waking at 5:30am still, she didn't spend too long in bed. By 6am she was dressed in her uniform, a white blouse under a dark blue habit with a black veil over her head. Then she made her way from her fifth floor apartment down to the cafeteria for her usual breakfast. A grapefruit, some raisin bran and a steaming cup of coffee. By 6:45, she was in the chapel on the second floor getting started on her preparations. She threw the drapes behind the altar open and started to arrange the candles for afternoon mass. At around 8:15am Another nun, Sister Madeline Marie, noticed the door to the sacristy was locked, and she thought that was strange. The sacristy was right next to the chapel. It held the priest's robes, sacred books, and the supplies for Holy Communion that Sister Margaret should have needed to finish her chores. Usually she would have left the door open while she was setting everything up. Madeline was confused, but since she needed to go inside, she decided to open the door herself. She slid a key from the ring in her pocket and turned it in the old metal lock. When she stepped inside, Madeline immediately noticed someone lying on the floor. Because the lights were so dim, she thought it was a CPR dummy. The hospital had been holding training classes recently, but when she got closer, she realized the truth. Madeline screamed as loud as she could and raced out to the chapel. As she burst through the door, she nearly collided with another elderly sister, who ushered her to a seat and asked her what had happened. Madeline couldn't speak for a moment. All she could do was point at the sacristy door with a horrified look, struggling to find the right words. When she finally calmed down enough to speak, she wiped the tears from her eyes and said that Margaret had been sexually assaulted. The other sister jumped to her feet and ran to the sacristy. Madeleine was right. Sister Margaret lay on the floor, flat on her back. Her dress had been yanked up to her chest while her girdle and underwear were around one of her ankles. And that wasn't all. Her face had been beaten so badly she was hardly recognizable. A halo of dark blood bloomed behind her head. But the worst part was her stomach. She had nine clear stab wounds in her abdomen. Together, those nine small dots form the sign of an upside down cross. As the nun struggled to process what she was seeing, Sister Madeline continued to scream in the other room. The noise drew several other employees to the chapel, who immediately called for medical attention. It didn't take long for ER doctors to race down to the sacristy, but as soon as they arrived, they could tell they were too late. Although the blood around Margaret's head hadn't dried yet, she was already dead. Hospital staff quickly called the police, who dispatched Toledo's Sergeant Arthur Marks and a trio of other detectives to the scene. Initially, all they knew was that a nun was dead. They figured one of the old women had a heart attack or a stroke. But when they walked into the sacristy, they realized this was no natural death. Even veteran officers were horrified by the brutal scene. Anyone who saw an elderly woman in Margaret's state would have been upset. But many of the first responders were also Catholic. Seeing a nun treated that way made them sick then and there. The detectives vowed to do whatever it took to track down the killer. But in the days to come, their faith and their duty would be put to the ultimate test.
