Foul Play: A Historical True Crime Podcast

Shane Waters and Gemma Hoskins sit down together for the first time in over a year for a wide-ranging conversation about the unsolved 1969 murder of Sister Catherine Ann Cesnik in Baltimore, Maryland. Known to millions through the Netflix documentary The Keepers, Gemma has spent more than a decade investigating what happened to Sister Cathy, the young School Sister of Notre Dame who taught English and drama at Archbishop Keough High School. She was found dead two months after her disappearance. This episode is a Q&A, recorded live with questions submitted by listeners through the show's Facebook community.
The Investigation: Timeline Questions and New Doubts
Listeners asked about the timeline of the night Sister Cathy Cesnik disappeared on November 7, 1969. Father Gerard Koob, who was in a relationship with Sister Cathy, claims he called the police at 11:30 PM after arriving at her apartment. The police report says the call came at 1:30 AM, a two-hour gap that remains unexplained. Koob says he and Father Peter McKeon found Cathy's car around 3:30 AM during a walk, but the police report credits McKeon alone with the discovery.
Gemma corrects a long-standing detail from The Keepers: the car was not found directly across the street from Cathy's apartment at Carriage House. It was actually found one court up the street, on Carriage Court, around a curve and out of direct line of sight from Lantern Court. She also confirms that the image of Sister Cathy's car shown in The Keepers was digitally placed into the scene by producer Jessica Hargrave as a visual aid. The steering wheel appears on the wrong side because the original police impound photo was flipped to match the camera angle.
Shane and Gemma discuss the suspicious letter Father Koob claims Cathy wrote to him, a handwritten love letter dated 12:30 AM on the Monday before she disappeared. The letter was found in the morgue notes rather than the detective's case file. Shane points out this means it was likely turned over after Cathy's body was found in January 1970, not when she first went missing. A profiler formerly with Scotland Yard analyzed the letter's content and concluded it was not written by Sister Cathy. Koob did not pass his second polygraph examination.
They also examine a separate letter Cathy wrote to her sister Marilyn, postmarked after the disappearance, which was admitted into evidence with the Baltimore County Police but has since gone missing. Shane raises the question of whether Father Koob could have written the letter to Marilyn as well, noting the parallels to the other letter and the movie ticket alibi.
New Evidence: The Mary Statue at St. Clement's
Gemma shares a story that has not been widely reported. Approximately two years ago, Eva Nelson, a publicly identified survivor of Father Joseph Maskell's abuse, told investigators she remembered watching Maskell bury something in the backyard of the St. Clement's rectory in Lansdowne. Police obtained permission from the current property owner and brought in ground-penetrating sonar equipment. Detective Josh Battaglia, the current investigator on Sister Cathy Cesnik's case, was present at the dig.
After two visits and multiple excavations, they found a broken statue of the Virgin Mary buried beneath a large bush that had once been small when Eva was a child. Eva recognized the statue immediately. A nun at St. Clement's had given it to her for protection, telling her, "Mary will always protect you." Father Maskell found the statue, broke it in front of Eva, and forced her to watch him bury it. The discovery validates Eva's memory of events that took place decades ago.
Historical Context
Sister Catherine Ann Cesnik was a 26-year-old School Sister of Notre Dame who taught English and drama at Archbishop Keough High School in Baltimore. She disappeared on November 7, 1969 after leaving her apartment to run errands. Her body was found on January 3, 1970 in a wooded area in Lansdowne. Her murder has never been solved. Father Joseph Maskell, a Catholic priest and school counselor at Keough, was later accused of sexually abusing dozens of students throughout the 1960s and 1970s. Multiple survivors have said they believe Sister Cathy was killed because she was about to report the abuse. Maskell died in 2001 without facing criminal charges. The case was the subject of the 2017 Netflix documentary series The Keepers.
Content Warning
This episode discusses clergy abuse and violence.
Frequently Asked Questions
Who is Gemma Hoskins?
Gemma Hoskins is a retired Baltimore teacher and former student at Archbishop Keough High School. She has spent over a decade investigating the murder of her former teacher, Sister Cathy Cesnik. She was featured in the Netflix documentary The Keepers and authored a book about herself and the case. She was named Maryland Teacher of the Year in 1992.
What happened to Sister Cathy Cesnik?
Sister Catherine Ann Cesnik disappeared from her Baltimore apartment on November 7, 1969. She had gone out to run errands, including a stop at a local bakery. Her car was found near her apartment that night. Her body was found on January 3, 1970. Her murder remains unsolved.
What was found buried at St. Clement's?
Police used ground-penetrating sonar to search the backyard of a former rectory associated with Father Maskell in Lansdowne. They found a broken statue of the Virgin Mary that a survivor remembered Maskell burying in front of her decades earlier.
Who is investigating Sister Cathy's case today?
Detective Josh Battaglia of the Baltimore County Police Department currently handles the investigation into Sister Cathy Cesnik's murder. He took over from Corporal Robin Teal after her retirement.
Crisis Resources
If you or someone you know has been affected by abuse:
US: RAINN National Sexual Assault Hotline, 1-800-656-4673
US: Childhelp National Child Abuse Hotline, 1-800-422-4453
UK: NSPCC Helpline, 0808 800 5000
UK: Rape Crisis England & Wales, 0808 500 2222

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This episode contains detailed descriptions of violent death, including axe murders and decapitation. If you need to skip this content, advance to the chapter markers below. Support resources are listed at the end of these notes.
This Episode
Season 40 of Foul Play marks America's 250th anniversary with a series of Twin Portraits — two true crimes from two different states, set in the same decade, examined side by side. This week: two axe murders from the 1890s, one in Massachusetts, one in Tennessee, both forgotten by history.
On May 30, 1893, twenty-two-year-old Bertha Manchester was killed in her father's farmhouse outside Fall River, Massachusetts — six days before the Lizzie Borden trial opened fifteen miles away in New Bedford. In March 1897, five members of a German immigrant family were slaughtered on a Tennessee ridge, their house burned to the ground, their case never solved. Two women named in this episode lived into their nineties and never saw justice. Shane and Wendy tell both stories.
The Victims (Case A — Massachusetts )
Bertha Mabel Manchester was born May 7, 1871, in Fall River, Massachusetts. She was twenty-two years old. Her mother had died when she was young, and she helped run the family dairy farm on New Boston Road — the quiet, rural edge of a city better known for cotton mills and crowded streets. She was home alone on the morning of May 30, 1893, when her father Stephen and her twelve-year-old brother Freddie left with the milk wagon.
She fought back. The medical examiner found twenty-three wounds to the back of her skull, defensive cuts on her hands and arms, and clothing torn in the struggle. Five teeth had been knocked out. The same doctor who performed those wounds had examined two other bodies less than a year before — Andrew and Abby Borden, murdered with a hatchet eight miles away the previous August. Dr. William A. Dolan was the medical examiner for Bristol County. He had seen this kind of violence before.
The Victims (Case B — Tennessee)
Jacob Ade was a German immigrant who had farmed 410 acres on Paradise Ridge, in the northwestern corner of Davidson County, Tennessee, for twenty years. His wife Pauline was fifty. Their daughter Lizzie was eighteen. Their son Henry was thirteen. On the night of March 23, 1897, a ten-year-old neighbor named Rosa Moirer was sleeping over at the Ade farm.
By 9:30 that night, a neighbor named Squire Simpson saw a glow on the horizon. He went to investigate with a potato fork lashed to a long pole, probing through the burning debris. He pulled four bodies from the sitting room. All four Ade family members had been decapitated. Rosa Moirer, the neighbor's daughter, was found outside. She had not been decapitated. Her head was still intact. Five people were dead.
The Crimes and Investigations
In Fall River, a nineteen-year-old Azorean immigrant named José Correia de Mello — who had arrived in America barely one month earlier, spoke no English, and had worked a day or two on the Manchester farm before disappearing — came back to the property on May 30 looking for money he believed Stephen Manchester owed him. When his uncle was told police needed him as a witness to a horse theft, de Mello went to the station without any idea he was a suspect. A shoe store owner testified that de Mello had tried to pay for new shoes using a trade dollar and a plugged half-dollar — the distinctive coins known to have been in Bertha's stolen purse. On September 18, 1893, de Mello changed his plea to guilty of second-degree murder. He was sentenced to life in prison. He walked out on January 31, 1914 — twenty-one years later — and was deported to the Azores. No record of him survives after that.
In Tennessee, the case produced theories but no convictions. Jacob Ade had withdrawn approximately $200 from a Nashville bank the day he died, intended as a loan for a neighbor. The money was never found. Investigators considered the neighbor Henry Moirer, whose daughter Rosa was among the dead; a man named Ed Anderson with whom Jacob had quarreled over hogs; and a group of men from Ashland City whose confessions didn't match the physical evidence and who were eventually released. Every trial ended in acquittal. The Paradise Ridge axe murders have never been solved.
Historical Context
Both cases belong to the same decade — the 1890s — when the United States was processing waves of immigration, rapid industrialization, and deep regional tensions a generation after the Civil War. In Fall River, José de Mello arrived in a city with one of the largest Portuguese-American populations in New England. The community that helped deliver him to police later spent years petitioning for his release. In Tennessee, the racial climate meant that multiple Black men from Ashland City were arrested, subjected to interrogation, and coerced into confessions that investigators ultimately couldn't use. Both cases carry the shadow of a justice system that worked very differently depending on who stood before it.
Rosa Ade married Lawrence James Hehir in Nashville on January 20, 1897 — just two months before her family was killed. She lived until May 17, 1962. She was ninety years old. The Tennessee Centennial Exposition opened in Nashville five weeks after her family was buried on the Ade property in March 1897. The state was celebrating. A family had been erased.
In 2023 — a hundred and thirty years after Bertha Manchester's death — William D. Spencer published *The Other Fall River Tragedy* through the Fall River Historical Society. It was the first full-length account of her case. A historical marker for the Ade family was erected in 2018 at 3000 Morgan Road in Joelton by the Historical Commission of Metropolitan Nashville and Davidson County. A small road called Jacobs Valley runs through what was once the Ade homestead, named in honor of Jacob Ade.

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This episode contains discussions of murder, arsenic poisoning, the deaths of children, and historical criminal trials. Ifyou need to skip any portion, advance past that segment using your chapter markers.
This Episode
Season 40 of Foul Play marks America's 250th anniversary by examining two cases that expose how the justice system treated killers differently based on wealth, gender, and class. This week: a double feature — one case from Texas, one from Pennsylvania, eleven years apart, and both asking the same question. Was justice served?
In January 1877, a woman known as Diamond Bessie crossed a footbridge over Big Cypress Bayou in Jefferson, Texas. She never came back. Her companion — the wealthy son of a Cincinnati jeweler — walked away with her rings on his fingers and her luggage on his arm. What followed was one of the most contested murder trials in Texas history, in a town that was already losing everything. This is true crime at its most infuriating: a woman's life weighed against a powerful family's money.
Then we cross to Philadelphia, 1888. Sarah Jane Whiteling, a forty-year-old factory worker's wife in a rear apartment on Cadwallader Street, lost her husband, her daughter, and her son inside sixty-seven days. The insurance companies paid out $399 total — $47 for her two-year-old boy. Arsenic trioxide was in every body. The prosecution called it wholesale murder. The defense called it insanity. The jury took two hours. This is historical true crime that doesn't let you look away.
The Victims
Diamond Bessie — real name believed to be Annie Stone, born around 1854 in upstate New York — had built a life on her own terms in an era that gave women almost none. She worked in upscale establishments in Cincinnati, New Orleans, and Hot Springs, accepting fine jewelry as payment, which earned her the name everyone knew her by. Dark- haired, pale-skinned, with grey or steel-blue eyes that period newspapers described as striking, she was intelligent and charming by every account. She married Abraham Rothschild in Danville, Illinois on January 11, 1877. Ten days later, a Black woman named Sarah King found her body propped against a twisted oak in the bayou woods — fully clothed, stripped of every piece of jewelry, a single gunshot wound to her temple.
The Whiteling victims were a family. John Whiteling, thirty-eight, worked as a streetcar conductor and factory worker. Bertha was nine years old. Willie was two. John died on or around March 20, 1888. Bertha died April 25. Willie died May 26. Sixty-seven days, start to finish. Each death had a doctor's signature and a natural cause on the certificate. None of those causes were arsenic. The bodies at Mechanics' Cemetery held the truth that the living room had hidden.
The Crimes
Abraham Rothschild — son of Meyer Rothschild, a prosperous Cincinnati jeweler — had been traveling with Bessie since meeting her in Hot Springs around 1875. On January 21, 1877, he bought two picnic lunches from Henrique's Restaurant in Jefferson, crossed the footbridge over Big Cypress Bayou with Bessie, and came back alone. He told the hotel staff she was visiting friends. The next morning he wore two of her large diamond rings to breakfast. Two days later he boarded the eastbound train with both sets of luggage. He was traced to the Capitol Hotel in Marshall, then arrested after shooting himself outside a saloon — blinded in his right eye — in Cincinnati. His family spent what contemporary sources called "no fewer than ten high-priced attorneys" on his defense, led by U.S. Congressman David B. Culberson. The first trial ended in a conviction and a death sentence. The Texas Court of Appeals threw it out on a procedural technicality. The second trial ended in an acquittal. The jury deliberated four hours.
Sarah Jane Whiteling purchased Rough on Rats — an arsenic trioxide compound manufactured by Ephraim S. Wells of New Jersey — and administered it to three members of her household between March and May of 1888. Coroner Samuel H. Ashbridge ordered the bodies exhumed. Professor Henry Leffmann, a chemist, and Dr. Henry F. Formad, a pathologist, found arsenic in every body. A drugstore clerk confirmed the purchase. Sarah confessed. Her defense centered on Dr. Alice Bennett — the first female physician to lead a department at an American asylum, Norristown State Hospital — who testified that Whiteling suffered from "physiological insanity" linked to reproductive dysfunction. The prosecution answered with their own experts: Drs. Charles Mills and John Chapin, who acknowledged she was of weak mind but said she was not legally insane. The jury deliberated approximately two hours. Guilty. First-degree murder. Death.
On June 25, 1889, at 10:07 in the morning, Sarah Jane Whiteling was executed at Moyamensing Prison in Philadelphia. She was the first woman executed in Philadelphia since colonial times. She reportedly appeared calm and believed she would be reunited with her children in heaven.
Historical Context
Both cases unfold during America's Gilded Age — that era of violent contradiction between spectacular wealth and grinding poverty. Jefferson, Texas had been the biggest riverport in the state until the Army Corps of Engineers removed the natural logjam on the Red River in 1873, and the railroad bypassed the city for Marshall. What had once shipped more than 75,000 bales of cotton annually was already hollowing out when Bessie's body was found. Reconstruction was collapsing across the South. Democrats had retaken the Texas state government three years earlier. In this context, the Rothschild family's ability to hire an army of lawyers — including a sitting U.S. Congressman — and purchase an acquittal reads as something beyond a legal outcome. It reads as a statement about whose life counted.
In Philadelphia, 1888, a factory worker's full-year wages ran between $300 and $500. Sarah Whiteling collected $399 from three life insurance policies — nearly a year's salary — for the deaths of her husband and two children. The arithmetic is not subtle. Dr. Alice Bennett's insanity defense was, by the standards of 1888 forensic psychiatry, genuinely innovative — her theory of "physiological insanity" in women with reproductive dysfunction would later be examined in the *Journal of the American Academy of Psychiatry and the Law* (Vol. 48, No. 3, 2020). But the jury didn't buy it, and Sarah Whiteling hanged.
Together these cases are a portrait of American justice in 1877 and 1888: brilliant, broken, and priced according to what you could afford.

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Historical Significance
In Georgia, a Webster County posse pursued Susan and Enoch one hundred twenty-five miles to Coffee County, Alabama. The grand jury indicted both on May 27, 1872 — twenty-three days after the murder. Enoch's trial lasted a single day; the jury deliberated for three minutes. Both were sentenced to death on May 30. Twenty-six days from murder to death sentence. The Georgia Supreme Court denied Susan's appeal in *Eberhart v. State* 47 Ga. 598 (1873), with Justice H.K. McCay dismissing calls for mercy. Governor James M. Smith refused clemency four days before Susan was to die.
Sheriff L.R. Barnard traced the Potts family over five hundred miles to Rock Springs, Wyoming, arresting the couple on February 16, 1889. Josiah Potts claimed Fawcett had killed himself after sexually abusing their daughter Edith, then approximately five years old. The abuse allegation was never investigated. The jury deliberated four hours — unanimous guilty verdict. Two hundred sixty-seven residents of Carlin petitioned the state board of pardons to commute both sentences to life imprisonment. The board refused. Sheriff Barnard himself opposed the execution.
The Investigations and Trials
Case B — Georgia (1872): On May 4, 1872, after ten o'clock at night, Enoch Spann strangled his wife Sarah with a plow line, breaking her neck. According to his confession, Susan Eberhart held a handkerchief over Sarah's mouth at his command. Susan maintained she had been asleep and was compelled to participate under direct threat from a man who had already attempted murder twice — including a staged buggy accident where Susan had pulled Sarah from a swollen creek to save her life.
Case A — Nevada (1888): Miles Fawcett entered the Potts household on New Year's Day to collect a debt and leverage knowledge of Elizabeth's bigamous marriage in Fresno, California. He was never seen alive again. His remains — charred, dismembered, buried in pieces throughout the cellar floor — were discovered on January 16, 1889, by the new tenant George Brewer. The only identifying object: a fragment of burned trouser pocket containing Fawcett's pocketknife.
The Crimes
Sarah Spann was approximately fifty years old. She had lost a leg and lived as an invalid in a one-room log cabin inWebster County, Georgia, dependent on her husband Enoch for everything. A Confederate veteran whose own fellow soldiers had described him as "very ignorant and very imbecile, Enoch Spann was the man she was married to and the man who killed her.
Miles Fawcett was born around 1830 near Manchester, England. He came west following the railroad, settling in Carlin — a Central Pacific division point established in 1868 with a population of roughly eight hundred. Fawcett worked a small ranch outside town. He kept to himself, known well enough that his pocketknife was recognized on sight but private enough that neighbors called him "Old Man Fawcett" and left it at that. He was fifty-seven when he disappeared.
The Victims
New Year's Day, 1888. A fifty-seven-year-old English carpenter named Miles Fawcett walks into a house on Silver Street in Carlin, Nevada, to collect a debt. He never comes back out. For a full year, the town absorbs his absence. When a new tenant probes the cellar floor and pulls up what he takes for a rotten turnip, it turns out to be a charred, decapitated human head. The woman who lived above that cellar — Elizabeth Potts — would become the only female ever legally executed in the state of Nevada. Meanwhile, in post-Civil War Georgia, an eighteen-year-old named Susan Eberhart is sent to cook and wash for a one-legged woman in a one-room cabin. Within days of her arrival, the man of the house begins telling her how he intends to kill his wife. Susan once waded into a swollen creek to save that woman's life. She would be convicted of helping to end it.
Season 40: America's 250th Anniversary. Fifty states, fifty crimes, two hundred and fifty years of history. This double-feature covers Nevada and Georgia — two women sentenced to hang, separated by seventeen years and two thousand miles, connected by a question neither court could answer.
This Episode
This episode contains discussions of murder, execution by hanging, domestic violence, sexual coercion, and dismemberment.
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July 1877. A dirt road in rural Missouri. A fifty-eight-year-old woman named Martha Parrish is shot dead by her own son-in-law while trying to rescue her daughter from an abusive marriage. Fifteen years later and five hundred miles east, an eighteen-year-old maid named Ellen Smith is shot behind a luxury hotel in Winston, North Carolina — and someone writes a song about it. Two historical murders. Two women killed by men who claimed to love someone close to them. One ended in a double coffin. The other became a folk song you may have heard without knowing it was real.
Season 40: Twin Portraits — double-feature true crime episodes exploring two historical murders from different American states, connected by a single theme. In Episode 3, the theme is love that kills — and the songs that outlive the dead.
This episode contains discussions of domestic violence, murder, suicide, and public execution. If you need to skip this content, support resources are listed at the end of these notes.

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