The Salt Lake City Bombings | Seeing God in the Flames

It's October 16th, 1985, and Utah is on high alert.

It's been just over 24 hours since two pipe bombs rocked Salt Lake City, one in an office building, another outside a suburban home.

Life in the city continues, but there's a sense of trepidation in the air.

It's around 2.30 in the afternoon when Mark Hofmann approaches his car, which is parked outside a bustling mall.

Like plenty of other people in Salt Lake City, the 30-year-old document dealer is on edge.

Some of his colleagues in Salt Lake's collector community have gone into hiding, afraid they'll be targeted next.

They fear the bombs might be the work of Mormon religious fundamentalists, angry about church secrets, recently revealed by some church documents.

But Mark's got more reason to be anxious than most.

He knew Steven Christensen, the first victim of yesterday's bombings.

In fact, Mark and Steven were scheduled to complete a secretive deal that very morning.

So as he unlocks his car door, there's a lot running through Mark's mind.

He's not paying attention to the people around him on the street, the traffic rushing by, or the cardboard box on his front seat.

The blast throws Mark away from his blue Toyota, leaving him a bloody mess on the sidewalk.

When he comes to a few seconds later, he can smell smoke, and his tongue tastes of ash.

There's a persistent ringing in his ears, as he looks up at the bright blue sky above him.

In a daze, his eyes drift towards his car.

There's smoke pouring out of its shattered windows.

The next thing Mark sees is the face of a young man hovering over his.

Brad has just left the gym when the bomb went off.

Now he's one of the first at Mark's side.

Mark can see Brad's mouth moving, but can't make out what the guy's saying.

He's too focused on the pain shooting through his body.

His knee feels like it's been cut open, and he can barely feel his right hand.

Mark gasps as Brad and another man lift him from the sidewalk and carry him across the street away from the car.

No one's sure what triggered the explosion, and everyone's eager to get away from the burning vehicle as quickly as possible.

After the two men place Mark gently on the ground, he slips back into unconsciousness.

It's then that Brad notices Mark's wearing white temple garments under his clothes.

It's a sign.

This man is a fellow Latter-day Saint.

Brad pulls a small vial of consecrated oil from his pocket.

He pours a drop of the oil onto Mark's head, places his hand over it, and commands him to live.

After that, all anyone can do is hope.

Hope that Mark Hofmann will live long enough for help to arrive.

Hope that there aren't anymore bombs.

Hope that all this will be over soon.

From Airship, I'm Jeremy Schwartz, and this is American Criminal.

When Mark Hofmann's car was blown up by a pipe bomb in October 1985, it terrified the already traumatized citizens of Salt Lake City.

That made it three explosions and two deaths in less than 36 hours, and there was no telling if that was the end of the nightmare or just the beginning.

But with Mark as the third victim, the shape of the case got clearer.

Investigators figured it had to have something to do with the document deals involving the Mormon Church.

But for the life of them, no one could puzzle out the connection.

Two of the victims, Mark and Steve Christensen, were involved in the high-profile sale of the so-called Salamander Letter back in 1984.

That document cast doubt on the earliest accounts of the Mormon Church and stirred up plenty of controversy within the LDS community.

And Mark and Steve were due to complete an even bigger deal on the day the first bomb went off.

So, if religious documents were the motivating factor behind the attacks, it made sense that Mark and Steve were targeted.

What was throwing detectives for a loop, though, was that the other bomb victim, Kathy Sheets, had nothing to do with the controversial documents.

She seemed to be a completely innocent bystander in the whole mess.

All three victims were well-respected members of the community, but there had to be a reason they were targeted, a reason the bomber chose them, and the police were determined to find it.

But when investigators looked closer into the lives of the victims, one of them didn't seem quite so squeaky clean after all.

And as they peeled back the layers, it became clear that this crime went beyond deadly bombings.

At the center of it all was a handful of historical documents.

The secrets they contained could rewrite the history of the Mormon faith, or they could destroy the life of the man who uncovered them.

One way or another though, there were more explosions to come.

This is episode 3 in a four-part series about the Salt Lake City Bombings, Seeing God in the Flames.

It's Monday afternoon in February 1984, a year and a half before the pipe bomb attacks.

The New York City offices of Time Magazine are bustling as usual.

Editor Ray Cave gets back to his desk after lunch to see a large stack of mail sitting atop his in-tray.

He's got a few minutes to kill before his next meeting, so he grabs a handful of envelopes and starts opening.

The first letter contains two sheets of paper, each neatly typed and folded.

On top is a short, unsigned note from whoever mailed the envelope.

It explains that the leadership of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints are trying to cover up what's on the next page.

As curiosity peaked, Ray reads on.

The text on the next page has a strange rhythm to it, as if it was written in a bygone century.

It's a typed excerpt from the Salamander letter that Mark Hofmann sold to Steve Christensen just weeks ago.

But Ray doesn't know that.

He's got no idea what it is and he's got half a mind to throw it in the trash.

Then he reaches the part of the letter which even he knows contradicts the official history of the Mormon Church.

Reading through both documents again, Ray realizes that if it's real, this letter could have huge implications.

Intrigued, Ray assigns a reporter to take a look and see if there's anything to the story.

It's not just Time Magazine that's gotten the scoop about the Salamander Letter.

Identical anonymous tip-offs are showing up at other newsrooms around the country.

There's no return address on any of them, so most just ignore the letters, writing them off as fanatical nonsense.

Despite this, the coordinated campaign shows that some anonymous person is determined to publicize the existence of the Salamander Letter and embarrass the Church.

Who that is, however, is anyone's guess.

Mark Hofmann showed the letter to plenty of people before he managed to sell it, and there's no telling how far word has spread since then.

As Time's reporters dig into the allegations, their investigations turn up credible rumors that Stephen Christensen is sitting on the document for the Church.

No matter how hard they press him, though, Steve won't let anyone see the letter.

It's the kind of behavior that two editor Ray Cave smacks of a cover-up.

Eventually, Time asks the LDS for comment, and the Church is forced to confront the issue.

They admit that the Church's leaders have seen the Salamander letter.

They've just not said anything publicly because work is still being done to properly contextualize the document.

They caution the magazine, warning them that publishing an article about the letter before academics have had a chance to look into it would be irresponsible.

It's a flimsy argument, but it's convincing enough for Time magazine who hold off on the story for the time being.

Other newspapers aren't discouraged so easily, however.

It's early March when The Salt Lake Messenger breaks the news.

They write that the Salamander Letter, if genuine, is one of the greatest evidences against the divine origin of the Book of Mormon.

But The Messenger is a small newspaper, and a known critic of The Church of Latter-day Saints, so their reporting doesn't make waves in the wider community.

Over the summer of 1984, the whispers about the mysterious Salamander Letter fade and Church leaders breathe a sigh of relief.

They think they might have just averted a disaster.

But then, on August 25th, The Los Angeles Times takes the story nationwide.

A lengthy article lays it all out for the uninitiated.

The Salamander Letter was written by one of the first Mormon converts, Martin Harris, and contains some startling revelations.

It tells the story of how the Prophet Joseph Smith first discovered the gold tablets containing the Book of Mormon.

The official line has always been that an angel named Moroni guided Smith to the tablet's hiding place.

But that's not what Martin Harris' letter says.

It claims that Smith had a vision of a white salamander guarding the gold instead.

And that's not all.

The text also suggests that the young Joseph Smith dabbled in magic and treasure hunting.

In short, this letter seems to directly contradict the founding mythology of the Mormon religion, and that spells trouble for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

One Mormon historian points out to the LA Times that the religion has actively mythologized Joseph Smith as an extraordinary man chosen by God.

But if the prophet experimented with witchcraft, then some might say he couldn't possibly be everything faithful saints believe.

After the LA Times breaks the story, it's picked up and repeated across the world.

The Church is desperate to make this mountain look more like a molehill, so it issues a statement to the press.

They claim that Martin Harris' letter is completely consistent with Joseph Smith's story of finding the golden plates.

The fact that this version features a salamander instead of an angel is basically irrelevant, they say.

The Church also points out that salamanders were once believed to live in fire.

So if Joseph Smith received a message from God through a salamander, then it would fit in with other biblical references to heavenly messages delivered through flames.

In essence, the Church's strategy is to downplay the controversy until the media moves on to the next scandal.

It's a plan that's helped by the fact that the letter itself still hasn't been released.

And, in fact, it hasn't even been authenticated yet.

The process of authentication isn't a simple one.

First, researchers need to look at the physical salamander letter itself, the paper, the handwriting and the ink used.

Figuring out the age of the paper and ink is a common practice when dealing with historic documents.

But the script is another matter.

There are so few surviving examples of Martin Harris' handwriting that matching the salamander letter to another document could take months.

And while the country's foremost handwriting experts dig into that, other researchers look into the letter's provenance, the trail of ownership, to trace it back as far as they can go.

That search takes them from Utah to New York and then to New Hampshire, where a dealer of postal memorabilia confirms that he recently sold a large collection of 19th century letters to Mark Hofmann.

Though there's no way to prove the salamander letter was among that lot, it makes sense to everyone involved.

Non-Mormon collectors wouldn't have thought anything of a letter signed by someone called Martin Harris, so it could have easily slipped through the cracks.

That's the provenance done.

Next, the researchers turn their attention to the contents of the letter.

Forged documents are often tripped up by references, language, and sentence structures that aren't historically consistent.

In this case, the researchers have to look into the facts of Joseph Smith's life.

Ignoring the spotless image of Smith, which the church has peddled for decades, they dig up court records that support the letter's claim that the prophet dabbled in treasure hunting.

They also find writings from some of Smith's earliest followers that show he claimed to have magical abilities.

So, everything the letter claims seems plausible.

But the process of authentication is taking longer than the letter's owner, Steve Christensen, expected and proving far more expensive.

And it's money that he doesn't really have right now.

Since his early twenties, Steve's enjoyed a successful career at an investment firm, Coordinated Financial Services, or CFS.

It's the kind of company that has its own opulent building in downtown Salt Lake, with oak-paneled offices and even a racquetball court on one floor.

But behind the glittering facade, CFS is in trouble.

Plans to sell office space in the building haven't panned out, and CFS has made a slew of other bad investments in the last couple of years as well.

Now CFS founder, president and Steve's mentor, Gary Sheets, has asked the company's senior officers to sign loan guarantees so the firm can pay its bills.

Steve is the company's chief operating officer, so he feels like he has to sign the papers.

But that makes the avalanche of problems facing CFS a direct threat to his own bank balance.

His personal assets are all mortgaged against company debt now, so if the company declares bankruptcy, he'll have to do the same.

With all that weighing on him, Steve reappraises his finances.

There's one obvious asset that could be monetized quickly, the Salamander Letter.

Steve paid 40 grand for it, but now that the authentication is almost complete, it should be worth far more.

Selling it would give him a pot of cash to weather whatever financial storm is coming his way.

But there's a problem.

Steve's already said he'll donate the letter to the church.

So Steve reaches out to the church's de facto president, Gordon Hinckley.

He tells Hinckley that their hard work has paid off and that the investigation hasn't turned up any evidence that the letter is a forgery.

The paper used appears to be the right age, and the ink is exactly the kind Martin Harris might have used in the 19th century.

Even the handwriting matches other samples.

But Steve says that selling the letter might be the best option for him now.

As luck would have it, Mark Hofmann has offered him $50,000 to buy it back.

Apparently, Yale University is sniffing around, and Mark wants to sell the salamander letter to them.

But as a faithful saint, Steve promises Hinckley that he'll still donate the document to the church if they ask it of him.

Perhaps he's hoping that the church will help him find a different member of the community who can pay for and donate the letter to their archives.

Or maybe he even thinks they'll pull out their checkbook to help him out once they know an institution like Yale is willing to pay for the artifact.

But no.

Hinckley tells Steve that he still expects him to donate the letter.

They have to have it for their collection.

He never even offers to pay for it.

Eventually, Steve makes good on his promise and hands the letter over to the church.

He'll have to find some other way to ease his growing financial insecurity.

While Steve Christensen is struggling to hold things together, Mark Hofmann is thriving.

He basks in the attention his success brings him and loves to regale friends with elaborate stories of how he hunts down his incredible finds.

But what he doesn't tell most people is that those trips are also an excellent time to indulge in some of his favorite vices.

Mormons are taught to abstain from what the church deems harmful substances, including alcohol.

At home, Mark toes the line and plays the part of the perfect saint.

But when he's away from Salt Lake City, Mark can put him away like a champ.

He's always had this secret side to him.

He lost his faith as a teenager and has just been pretending ever since.

His family, including his wife and children, have no idea.

But if Mark finds living a double life stressful, it doesn't seem to affect his business.

People have started coming to him with money to invest.

They've heard of his success and they want a piece of the action.

So Mark creates syndicates of investors to pool resources.

That way several people can combine to fund the purchase of more expensive items that Mark tracks down.

These syndicates can then sell the documents on and everyone splits the profits.

And the figures just keep getting bigger.

By the end of 1985, Mark's buying and selling rare books and documents for hundreds of thousands of dollars at a time.

But those deals will look like chump change compared to the document Hill on Earth in March of 1985.

A chance find in a Manhattan bookstore that could prove more valuable than anything he's come across before.

That discovery will catch the attention of some much bigger fish, however.

Mark Hofmann might have started his career cutting deals with historians and church leaders in Utah.

But now he's going to have to deal with the United States government.

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It's March of 1985, and New York City is just starting to shake off the winter cold.

Still, it's chilly, as 30-year-old Mark Hofmann walks down a busy Manhattan street.

He's treading a familiar path along 61st, returning to one of his favorite rare bookstores in the city.

It's a place where he's done plenty of business in the past, mostly buying first editions of children's books.

He and his wife Dory have a collection, and this particular gallery has helped fill it out.

But Mark's not on a shopping trip today.

He's keen to get the proprietor's opinion on a document he's recently acquired.

The bell tinkles on the door as Mark enters the quiet gallery.

With his usual polite, unassuming manner, he approaches the counter and opens a slightly beat up briefcase.

He places a thin sheet of paper on the glass display case, while Justin Schiller, one of the store's owners, slides on his reading glasses.

After just a few seconds, Mark can see that Schiller is intrigued.

There's a decorative border around the aged paper, and at the top are the words, The Oath of a Freeman.

The rest of the space is taken up by text, a vow of loyalty to the Massachusetts Bay Colony.

The language is archaic and the printing looks a bit crooked in places, but Mark has a good feeling about his latest find.

Mark explains that he picked the document up at an antique bookstore here in New York, paying $25 for it on a hunch that it might be valuable.

After that, just a few hours of research told him that he was right.

The Oath of a Freeman is believed to date back as far as 1638.

It might even be the first document ever printed in North America following colonization.

As far as anyone knows, there are no surviving copies of the original, which is why Mark thinks he's found an early reproduction, an antique copy of the genuine document.

But he still believes it could be worth as much as $10 or $20 grand.

If it were today, he might be expecting around $50 grand.

Schiller can't stop staring at the document.

Unlike Mark, who mostly deals with artifacts to do with the Mormon church, Schiller is an expert in all kinds of historical American documents.

After a couple of minutes careful examination, he tells Mark that he thinks that this isn't an early reproduction at all.

It might just be an original printing of the oath.

He explains that the printer who made the oath is also famous for creating the Bay Psalm Book in 1640.

That information will be key to proving Schiller's hunch.

Schiller takes Mark's specimen to the New York Public Library, where one of the 12 surviving copies of the Bay Psalm Book is currently on display.

Upon careful supervision, Schiller compares the two items.

The paper on the oath seems to match the stock used in 1640.

The typeface is nearly identical, and the decorative border looks an awful lot like those printed in the Psalm Book as well.

Taking all of this into account, Schiller tells Mark that the document is probably worth far more than $20,000.

If this is the real deal, the buyer might pay $500,000, or even a million.

Mark's breath catches in his chest as he hears those figures.

It's a lot of pressure for a guy whose customers are mostly private collectors.

He's done plenty of smaller sales of Mormon documents and some literary artifacts, but this is an item that could make actual history.

Museums might want it.

Historical societies could get involved.

Maybe, even the federal government.

Thinking about that, Mark feels like he's in way over his head.

So he makes an offer to Schiller and his business partner.

They can act as Mark's agents.

If they find a buyer and negotiate the sale for him, he'll split the profits with them 50-50.

The book dealers agree quickly.

Mark Hofmann's new representatives soon get to work.

One of their first calls is to the Library of Congress.

Experts there are intrigued and ask if they can hold on to the oath for tests.

These should prove for certain whether it's authentic or not.

The process is supposed to take about a month or so, but neither Mark or his agents are worried by that timeline.

The longer authentication takes, the more chance they'll have to build anticipation for the sale.

If they're lucky, they'll be able to drum up some competing bids for the oath.

If that happens, who knows?

The document might just net them two million.

It's a sum to make anyone's head spin, but Mark's run of big deals isn't over yet.

The following month, in April of 1985, he visits Alvin Rust at a store in Salt Lake City.

Alvin is a dealer of rare coins, and like many of his colleagues in the antique trade, he's done some business with Mark over the last couple of years.

But Mark's not here to talk about coins today.

He's got a slightly unusual request, but one that gets Alvin's attention in a big way.

Looking around to make sure no one can overhear them talking, Mark tells Alvin in a low voice that after years of searching, he's finally found his holy grail, the McClellan Collection.

Alvin's stunned.

As a fellow Latter-day Saint, he understands just how incredible this news is.

William McClellan was one of Joseph Smith's early converts to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

But he broke with the new religion in 1838, at which point he became vehemently anti-Mormon.

Legend has it that when McClellan left the Church, he took some incriminating documents with him.

People have been hunting for the collection ever since.

But over a century later, no one knows what McClellan's Trove contains or where it might be found.

Now though, Mark tells Alvin that not only has he found the collection, he has a chance to buy it.

Apparently, there are three cardboard boxes full of McClellan's documents in New York, and the current owners want to sell them.

They're asking for $185,000.

The trouble is Mark only has $30,000 available right now.

That's where Alvin comes in.

If he'll loan Mark $150,000, Mark thinks there's a good chance he can double their money by splitting the collection up into individual sales.

Alvin doesn't have the cash either, but it's too good a deal to pass up.

Not only does it offer him the chance to own a part of Mormon history, but he could make a huge profit.

Still, he's somewhat anxious.

He doesn't want to be involved in uncovering documents that might embarrass the church.

Listening to Alvin's concerns, Mark says that he's seen what's in the collection and there's nothing in the materials that the church should be afraid of.

Hearing that, Alvin starts to get excited about the whole thing.

So he borrows the $150,000 he needs from the bank.

But with such a huge sum on the line, he wants his son Galen to accompany Mark when he travels to New York to pick up the goods.

Mark's so grateful that he says he wouldn't care if the entire Rust family wanted to come with him.

On April 23rd, 1985, Mark Hofmann and Galen Rust fly to New York.

When they land, Mark goes off on his own to meet his contact, leaving Galen at their hotel.

Hours later, Mark returns and he's got news.

Mark tells Galen that the deal is done.

The McClellan collection is all theirs.

But Mark's empty handed.

He says he's already arranged to ship the trio of boxes back to the Hofmann residence in Utah.

Galen's a little perturbed by that.

His father specifically told them to bring the valuable cargo home with them on the plane.

But Mark tells Galen not to worry.

He insured the cartons for over $20,000.

Still, when Galen's father hears about the change of plan, Alvin can't help but be concerned, especially considering it's borrowed money they're all playing with.

So, he's relieved when Mark calls to tell him that the cartons have arrived safe and sound in Utah.

But he knows he'll feel better once he sees the collection for himself.

Unfortunately, he'll never get the chance.

About a week or so after the New York trip, Mark Hofmann calls Alvin Rust again to tell him he's sold the entire McClellan collection to the Mormon Church.

President Hinckley has agreed to Mark's asking price, $300,000 for the lot.

It's a relief for Alvin.

He's frustrated that he still hasn't gotten a look at anything from the collection, but at least he'll be getting his money.

They've cleared more than $100,000 on the deal, and as Alvin stumped up the majority of the cash to buy the collection in the first place, most of those profits should be coming his way.

But before he hangs up, Mark has one more request of Alvin.

He asks him to keep the deal as secret.

Not just the sale, the entire existence of the McClellan collection.

Mark doesn't say why, but Alvin assumes it's something the Church has asked for.

Having worked with Mormon artifacts for years, Alvin isn't surprised by the need for secrecy.

But it still irks him.

He's been instrumental in bringing a valuable set of documents to where they rightly belong.

And now, he won't get any credit for it.

Unfortunately, a lack of credit isn't the only thing that will be keeping Alvin Rust up at night.

Because after that phone call, he doesn't hear from Mark again.

At first, Alvin figures that Mark's just out of town on a mission to find some other documents for the Church.

But then weeks go by with no word and still no sign of Alvin's money.

Eventually, Alvin starts calling friends of Mark to ask if they know where he is.

But they don't have a clue.

No one does.

It's like the guys disappeared.

Finally, with loan repayments to make, Alvin does the only thing he can think of.

He reaches out to the acting president of the LDS Church, Gordon Hinckley.

He's the one who Mark struck the McClellan deal with.

Maybe he knows where Mark is.

Or perhaps he can just give Alvin what he's owed.

But Alvin never hears back from President Hinckley either.

Slowly, it starts to dawn on Alvin that maybe he's been swindled.

He spends nights wondering if Mark is just a con man who never intended to share the profits from the McClellan collection.

But the truth is much bigger than that.

And Alvin Rust won't be the last person to regret giving their money to Mark Hofmann.

Then again, some of them will just be grateful that they lived to tell the tale.

It's June of 1985 in Salt Lake City.

30-year-old Mark Hofmann is once again in the offices of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

He's meeting with the faith's most powerful leader, Gordon Hinckley.

It's been about two months since Mark made a deal with Alvin Russ to buy the McClellan collection and sell it to the Church for a profit.

But he still hasn't given Alvin his cut.

The truth is, Mark lied.

He didn't sell the collection to the Church.

He never even approached them about doing a deal.

At least not until now.

Over glasses of orange juice, Mark tells Hinckley about the McClellan collection.

With a mournful look, he reveals that it's just as Church historians have long feared.

The collection contains documents that could prove devastating to the faith.

It's the exact opposite of what Mark told Alvin Russ, but Mark's a pro.

He knows how to tailor his sales pitch to get what he wants.

The good news, he says, is that the Church can secure the collection for just $185,000.

Hinckley does well not to spit out his OJ.

He's not handing over that kind of money, but he does urge Mark as a devout saint to secure the collection for the Church.

It's not the cash Mark was after, but now that he has official marching orders from LDS leadership, he decides it's time to tap a well he's gone to before.

He meets with investment banker Steven Christensen, who bought the salamander letter from Mark a year earlier.

After a tumultuous year at his company CFS, Steve's on the verge of bankruptcy, but that doesn't mean he can't help.

Steve arranges a meeting for Mark with Hugh Pinnock, a senior member of the Church who happens to be a director at First Interstate Bank.

As soon as Hugh hears about the collection and about Mark's meeting with Gordon Hinkley, he arranges a cashier's check for $185,000.

Mark picks it up that same day.

After that, Mark's finally able to pay Alvin Russ back the 150 grand he contributed for the McClellan deal.

He hopes that'll be enough to keep the coin dealer off his back for a few months, but it's not.

Mark told Alvin that the church paid him $300,000 for the collection.

So Alvin's share of the profit should be in the region of 100 grand.

He wants that in addition to his original 150k, and he wants it now.

That's when Mark comes clean.

Kind of.

He confesses that he didn't actually sell the McClellan collection to the church for $300,000.

He insists he hasn't sold it to anyone just yet, which is true.

It's just not the whole truth.

What Mark doesn't tell Alvin is that he never had the collection at all.

The whole thing has been a fabrication from the beginning.

And now Mark's taken money from Alvin and the first interstate bank to buy something that as far as anyone knows doesn't even exist.

Still, he promises Alvin he'll pay him the 100 grand in profits from the deal that never was, because he's just that kind of upstanding guy.

As proof, he tells Alvin all about the oath of a freeman, which he's expecting to sell for at least a million dollars.

Once that happens, Mark says with a smile, he'll make everything right.

For whatever reason, Alvin Rust takes Mark Hofmann at his word.

But he's not the only one waiting for money.

How long it's been in place isn't clear, but Mark's concocted an elaborate Ponzi scheme built around his document trade.

He's been borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, and now he's in over his head.

Mark's got plenty of other customers, investors and fellow document dealers who are expecting payment and running out of patience.

And although it got Alvin off his back for now, the check from First Interstate Bank barely scratched the surface of Mark's other debts.

So he has to go for an even bigger score.

He reaches out to an old friend with a tantalizing offer.

Word has been getting around about the oath of a freeman, and Mark says that it's brought a dealer out of the woodwork who has their own copy of the oath to sell.

This other guy's asking $500,000.

But that's a bargain, because Mark's sure his agents can get at least $1.5 million for it.

Now, this friend has invested money with Mark in the past, as part of a syndicate, and he's always gotten paid.

So he excitedly calls the rest of his investment group.

Eventually, he tells Mark that they'll contribute a little over $200,000 to the deal.

It's not enough to cover Mark's debts, but it should hold him over at least until he can sell his first copy of The Oath of a Freeman.

So, on September 12, 1985, he accepts the investor's offer and breathes a sigh of relief.

Except the next day, his new investors get cold feet.

They tell Mark that they want their money back.

Only thing is, Mark's already spent it paying back all the other people he owes.

His latest investors are furious.

It's been less than 24 hours since they gave Mark their money.

They don't understand where it could have gone so fast.

Over the next few days, members of the investment group show up at Mark's doorstep demanding their money back.

If he can't give them that, they insist on some kind of collateral instead.

They have a lawyer draw up contracts stating that Mark owes them over $400,000 for the latest deal, as well as other investments they've made with him.

Despite it all, Mark is still determined to keep his reputation as an upstanding guy, so he signs the papers.

But by now, the trust has been broken with this group of investors.

So to incentivize Mark to repay them sooner, there's a ticking clock included in the agreement.

After October 15th, one month from now, the amount Mark owes the investors will increase by $4,000 every single day.

Meanwhile, Mark's wife Dory has no idea what's happening.

Oblivious to her husband's collapsing Ponzi scheme, Dory's even started looking for a bigger house for their family.

Eventually, she finds a place for $550,000, and Mark can't say no to her.

The moving date is set for October 1st, and the Hofmanns have promised to pay $200,000 up front.

So Mark needs the oath of a freeman to sell, and quickly.

It's the only way he'll be able to pay everyone what he owes them, as well as afford his new family home.

Anything less than a million just won't cut it.

If he doesn't get that, well, that just doesn't bear thinking about.

Then word finally comes through from the Library of Congress.

Their tests haven't detected any kind of forgery in the oath of a freeman.

What's more, they're very interested in buying it.

Mark's delighted.

But when his agents in New York ask for $1.5 million, the Library of Congress says thanks, but no thanks.

They don't want it that badly.

It's a crushing blow.

That was Mark's out.

His agents try to assure him they just have to wait, that the right buyer will come along eventually.

But Mark doesn't have the time or the temperament to be patient.

The wolves are at the door, and he can't fend them off any longer.

If he only had more time, that would solve all his problems.

He just can't see how that's going to happen.

But then, Mark comes up with the perfect solution.

It's simple, really.

He doesn't know why he didn't think of it before.

He's just going to have to kill someone.

From Airship, this is episode 3 in our series on the Salt Lake City Bombings.

On the next episode, Mark Hofmann selects the people who should die, and the full scale of his crimes is finally revealed.

We use many different sources while preparing this episode.

A couple we can recommend are A Gathering of Saints, A True Story of Money, Murder and Deceit by Robert Lindsay, and The Los Angeles Times reporting on the case.

This episode may contain reenactments or dramatized details, and while in some cases we can't know exactly what happened, all our dramatizations are based on historical research.

American Criminal is hosted, edited and produced by me, Jeremy Schwartz.

Audio Editing by Mohammed Shahzaib

Sound Design by Matthew Filler.

Music by Thrum.

This episode is written and researched by Joel Callan.

Managing Producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are Joel Callen, William Simpson and Lindsay Graham for Airship.