The Salt Lake City Bombings | The Mormon Indiana Jones

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It's the morning of October 15th, 1985, in the hilly Salt Lake City suburb of Holladay.

50-year-old Cathy Sheets is saying goodbye to her friend, Faye.

The two women have just taken their daily walk through the neighborhood and have finished back at Cathy's car.

As she starts the engine, Cathy waves to Faye one more time, then pulls out from the curb.

As soon as Faye is out of sight, Cathy lets her smile drop.

Talking with her friend was a nice distraction, but Cathy's troubles are all going to be waiting for her when she gets home.

Cathy's husband has run a successful investment firm for years, but he's just admitted to her that the company is deeply in debt.

A lot of people are about to lose their money, and Cathy's husband might even face criminal charges.

It's a lot for her to process, and besides being a supportive wife, there's not much Cathy can do to help.

As she turns onto her quiet street, Cathy forces a smile back onto her face.

She has to be strong.

She has children to look after, grandchildren too.

She can't let them see her worry.

It's close to 9.30 when Cathy carefully steers her car down the driveway.

As she's parking, she spots a package next to the garage door, which is unusual because deliveries are usually left by the front door.

Gathering up her things, Cathy gets out of the car and makes a beeline for the package.

It's a square box wrapped in brown paper, and it's addressed to her husband.

She picks it up and turns towards the front door, walking along the treeline pathway toward the house.

Rummaging for the front door key in her purse, she tucks the package under one arm.

The box explodes.

Shards of metal, cardboard, scraps of newspaper and leaves fly in all directions.

Cathy's sheets dies instantly.

The noise of the explosion is mostly swallowed up by the trees and bushes on the leafy street.

Neighbors who do hear the noise look out their windows only to see a swirl of leaves fluttering through the air, like maybe a branch has fallen off a tree.

So Cathy's body lies undiscovered next to her garage for close to an hour until 10.30 when a friend stops by hoping to say a quick hello to Cathy.

Within minutes, the air pulses with the sound of silence as first responders race to the scene.

But at this point, there's nothing anyone can do.

Cathy's sheets is dead.

But she's not the only victim of a bombing in Salt Lake City this morning.

And the explosions aren't over yet.

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

On October 15th, 1985, investigators had just started inspecting the scene of a bombing in downtown Salt Lake City when the call came in.

There had been a second explosion.

Right away, the authorities were certain the two incidents were linked.

The timing was too close for it to have been a coincidence, and the construction of the two bombs was eerily similar.

And then there was the clear connection between the victims.

Until recently, the first person killed in the bombing, Stephen Christensen, had worked for an investment firm belonging to the husband of the second victim, Kathy Sheets.

But that business had been hemorrhaging money and was on the verge of collapse.

Knowing that the end was near, Steve had bailed out and tried to start over.

So as news of the explosion spread across Salt Lake City, people speculated that perhaps someone who lost money with the failing company was behind the bombings.

Other theories, though, pointed to Steve's involvement in a mysterious sale he was brokering between a document dealer and the Mormon church.

There had been a lot of controversy stirred up by historical artifacts relating to the church in recent years.

The documents had divided the usually cohesive Mormon community, pitting faith against scholarship.

Now, some Salt Lake City locals wonder just how much friction had been created.

Was this latest deal, whatever it was, worth killing over?

And if that was the case, then why was the second bomb on holiday?

Was someone trying to send some kind of message, or just create a bloody distraction?

This is episode 2 in a four-part series about the Salt Lake City bombings, The Mormon Indiana Jones.

It's March 6, 1982, in Payson, about 60 miles south of Salt Lake City.

By his living room window, Brent Ashworth waits anxiously for his guests to arrive.

Brent's an enthusiastic collector of historical documents, with a particular interest in the letters and signatures of notable figures.

And like many people who live in and around Salt Lake City, he's a Latter-day Saint.

All of which makes Brent Mark Hoffman's exact target market.

Mark is a historical document dealer who mainly focuses on the legacy of the Mormon church, so he counts on people like Brent to keep his business running.

The pair have done several deals in recent months.

But when Mark called Brent an hour ago to tell him he had something to show him, there was a note of excitement in his voice that Brent hadn't heard before.

Now, when he sees a car pull into the driveway, Brent hurries to the front door and flings it open to welcome his favorite dealer in.

After Mark exchanges pleasantries with Brent's wife, the two men shut themselves in the study to get down to business.

Mark sets his briefcase on the desk, pops the locks, and pulls out a yellowed sheet of paper in a protective plastic sleeve.

He hands it to Brent, who holds it under his desk lamp to inspect it.

It's a letter dated January of 1873.

The page is covered in a tidy script written in faded blue pencil.

Brent lets his eyes race over the body of the letter, eager to see who wrote it.

At the bottom of the page is the signature of Martin Harris.

That's a name familiar to all Latter-day Saints.

Harris was the prophet Joseph Smith's first convert beyond his family.

He's also the man who mortgaged his own farm for the money Smith needed to publish the Book of Mormon.

But most importantly of all, Harris was one of the so-called Three Witnesses who claimed to have seen the golden plate Smith translated.

A document bearing his signature is a rare find indeed.

And the contents of this letter are even more exciting.

Brent's hands shake as he reads it.

In the letter, Harris describes the experience of an angel showing him the gold plates and then hearing the voice of God commanding him to tell others that the Book of Mormon is real.

None of this is new information because Harris signed a declaration outlining this exact story in 1830.

But the letter Mark has brought to Brent is dated over 40 years after that, and it's important because it confirms that Harris never wavered in his testimony.

His memory of the events was crystal clear right to the end of his life.

Utterly moved by the letter, Brent looks up at Mark and says that he has to have it for his collection.

Looking around the room, Brent gestures at the numerous framed documents on the walls and tells Mark he'll trade him anything from his archive.

Mark takes his time choosing what he wants.

After careful consideration, he picks out documents bearing the signatures of George Washington, Abraham Lincoln and Robert E.

Lee.

Brent estimates that the lot is probably worth at least $27,000 and it will all be Mark's to keep once they've had the Martin Harris letter authenticated.

It's not that Brent doesn't trust Mark.

Authentication is just part and parcel of the document trade.

So they agree to send the letter to a handwriting expert who works for the church.

He'll analyze the text to make sure it's consistent with the other samples of Harris' writing and give his verdict when he's certain one way or the other.

But that could take months.

In the meantime, Mark continues his search for more documents with connections to Mormon history.

And Brent makes it clear that he wants first dibs if he finds anything as good as the Martin Harris letter.

It takes a few months, but at the end of July 1982, Mark Hoffman pays another visit to Brent Ashworth's home.

He's got another letter to show the collector, one that turned up in a bulk lot of undelivered mail from the 1800s.

Mark bought it from someone who didn't bother checking the contents of the letters, which isn't uncommon for collectors who are more interested in antique postmarks than the documents themselves.

It's a quirk Mark understands and capitalizes on in his searches.

Now it's turned up another gem.

This time the letter is dated 1829, a year before Joseph Smith published the Book of Mormon, and it's signed by his mother, Lucy Mack Smith.

Once again, holding a letter from someone so close to the prophet, Brent feels himself trembling as he reads the text on two sheets of crisp yellowed paper.

Writing to her sister-in-law, Lucy describes her son's revelations, as well as the forthcoming Book of Mormon.

She briefly previews the contents of the book, writing about the Israelites who were led to North America by God and of the family's pride at Joseph's calling.

The letter is an astonishing find, and Brent can't believe that it could be his.

Determined to lay claim on the document, he repeats his offer to Mark.

He'll swap anything in his collection for the letter, and they eventually settle on a trade that makes both men happy.

Once again, Mark sends the document to the same church handwriting expert for authentication, and this time the verdict is immediate and resounding.

No one but Lucy Mack Smith could have written this letter.

And given the early date of the document, it's a find that the church is very excited about.

They hold a press conference to spread the good news.

Reporters from across Salt Lake City rush to the church administration building to hear historians explain the letter's importance.

For years, critics of the church have suggested that the Smith family gradually adjusted Joseph's story about how he found the gold plates and then translated them.

Naysayers have often claimed that the tale got more miraculous as time went by.

After all, the story about angels and golden plates left by ancient peoples is much more appealing than one about a charismatic man with a book of made-up history.

Believing the story of the gold plates and the angel helps people believe that their religion is a literal godsend rather than the fabrication of Joseph Smith.

However, this letter from the prophet's mother seems to prove that Joseph Smith's story was the same from the very beginning.

Before there was any kind of following assembled behind Joseph, his mother was spreading the word, as saints still do more than a century later.

Not since the discovery of the Anthem transcript in 1980 has there been such a solid faith-affirming artifact brought to light.

That is, until a few months later, when the handwriting expert finally finishes his research and announces that the Martin Harris letter Mark found is also authentic.

Once the church leadership hears the news, they call the press back to their headquarters again to publicize the latest important find.

The Harris letter, they say, is yet more evidence of the divine origins of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

And while Brent Ashworth is hailed as a hero for sharing the letters with the church, Mark Hoffman makes sure to capitalize on the reflected glory.

As the person who actually found both letters and brought them to the right collector, he feels entitled to a share of the spotlight.

And as word spreads about his involvement, people remember that it was Mark who brought the anthem transcript to the church two years ago.

They start asking what his secret is.

Mark isn't entirely forthcoming, but that's not uncommon for people in his trade.

After all, this is how he makes his living, and divulging his sources could invite unwelcome competition.

But he admits that he spends long, lonely hours trawling through private collections for interesting documents.

He even travels out of state to get a closer look at anything he thinks could be valuable, and has good relationships with several dealers in New York.

Proud friends compare Mark to Indiana Jones, the whip-cracking archaeologist at the center of the previous year's hit film Raiders of the Lost Ark.

And it's not a comparison Mark discourages.

Though he was on the track team in high school, he's been a geek to the core for most of his life, so he likes having people think of him as a swashbuckling adventurer.

And while he's not exploring hidden temples like Indy, he is making history with his finds.

Later, in the fall of 1982, Mark Hoffman calls on one of the LDS Church's seniormost leaders to offer him a document directly.

This one was written by a man named David Whitmer.

He was another one of the three witnesses who swore he saw Joseph Smith's fabled gold plates for themselves.

Though Whitmer was one of the earliest converts to the new religion, he left the Mormon Church in 1838, and it's always been assumed he'd lost his faith.

But Mark's latest discovery challenges that.

The letter, dated 1873, suggests that Whitmer's belief in the Book of Mormon never wavered.

In the letter, he states plainly that the Book of Mormon is the word of God.

It's just one more solid piece in the wall church leaders are assembling against the faith's detractors.

And all Mark is asking for is $10,000.

It's a price the LDS Church is willing to pay, and Mark soon has another lucrative deal under his belt.

He's already bought a house for his growing family with the money he's earned dealing.

But he still wants more.

He's on the hunt for the kinds of things that will make him very, very rich.

And having spent several years completely immersed in Mormon history, he knows exactly what to look out for.

In particular, Mark Hoffman is on the lookout for two items.

Each is legendary to Mormon scholars.

The first is a trove of documents written by an early Mormon known as the McClellan Collection.

Exactly what's included in the extensive stash is a mystery, but that's part of its appeal.

Those in the know would just about kill to get their hands on it.

The second holy grail Mark's hunting is something many scholars believe was destroyed more than 150 years ago, the lost pages of the Book of Mormon.

No one's 100% sure what happened to the 116 first pages Joseph Smith translated.

Legend has it that he gave them to his first convert Martin Harris for safekeeping, and they were never seen again.

A century and a half later, there's no telling if the lost pages even still exist, let alone where they could be.

But if anyone's going to find them, then the Mormon Indiana Jones will be the man to do it.

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It's early January 1983 in Salt Lake City.

29-year-old Mark Hoffman sits in the office of LDS Church historian G.

Homer Durham, nervously waiting for him to finish reading.

It's been almost three years since Mark donated the Anthem transcript to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, kicking off his career as a document dealer.

Now he's come to the church with something new.

Mark called Durham earlier this morning to tell him about a letter he'd found.

He told the historian that the church ought to see it as soon as possible.

Durham is an influential figure in Utah, with a direct line to the office of the First Presidency.

That should make for a smooth transition if there's a deal to be made for this letter.

Mark drums his fingers on his thighs while he waits.

It's only been a minute or two since Durham started reading the letter, but it feels like hours.

Finally, the historian reaches the bottom of the page and exhales slowly.

But before he even looks up at Mark, he turns the paper over and starts reading again.

After his second read-through, Durham places the letter on his desk and dials his phone.

Mark listens as Durham has a short conversation with someone before hanging up.

When Durham stands, he motions for Mark to do the same.

They're going to see the church president right now.

In short order, Mark finds himself face-to-face with the highest authority in the Mormon Church.

Acting president Gordon Hinckley welcomes Mark and Durham graciously into his airy office, invites them both to take a seat, and then asks what this is all about.

Durham sits back so that Mark can explain how he obtained the letter from a document dealer on the East Coast.

The other man hadn't seemed to know how important it was, but with Mark's almost encyclopedic knowledge of Mormon history, he recognized it at once.

He explains that he got in touch with Durham as soon as he had the letter in his hands, because he knew the church would want it for themselves.

Intrigued, Hinckley reads the letter in front of him, and his wizened face twists in consternation.

It's a signal to Mark that he was right.

The church does want the document.

Not for its historical significance, though, but for its potential to embarrass the LDS movement.

It's dated June 18, 1825, five years before the first publication of the Book of Mormon.

The letter is a set of instructions on how to use folk magic to hunt for buried treasure, as well as how to deal with any quote-unquote clever spirits guarding it.

What makes this such a potentially troublesome document is that it's signed by Joseph Smith.

There have long been rumors that the Mormon prophet was a treasure hunter who dabbled in witchcraft and supernatural divination in his youth.

Even arrest records circulate every now and then, showing that Smith was charged with being, quote, a disorderly person and an imposter.

The church leadership have always denied that Joseph Smith practiced magic.

Some Mormon historians have even dismissed the court records of his arrest as forgeries intended to undermine the new church.

But the idea just won't go away.

It's all deeply embarrassing to a religion that spent the last century and a half trying to prove its credibility.

So Hinckley is clearly troubled by the letter, and he asked Mark what he'll accept for it.

Now an experienced dealer, Mark came into the meeting prepared for this question.

He doesn't donate documents these days.

He sells them.

So he names his asking price $15,000.

The church doesn't love paying cash for historic documents, especially controversial ones, but they can remember what happened when they hesitated in the past.

It led to a very public and embarrassing tussle with the Mormon Splinter Church, the RLDS.

No one wants a repeat of that mess.

So Hinckley tells Mark that if the letter can be verified by an expert, the church will pay him for it.

But Hinckley cautions, no one can know about the embarrassing letter.

Even other official church historians will be kept in the dark.

So the deal is sealed with a handshake, and Mark agrees to send the letter to a renowned expert in New York who can be trusted to be discreet.

Once that expert makes a call about the veracity of the piece, the exchange takes place, and Mark is 15 grand richer.

Although they have the new Joseph Smith letter under lock and key, the Mormon leadership is spooked by this latest document find.

They're still sensitive about the damage that research into the Church's past can do, so they issue new warnings to Mormon scholars.

The Church reminds its followers that the idea of academic freedom doesn't apply when it comes to their religion.

If any scholars look into non-faith-promoting materials or write articles for publications that are critical of the LDS Church, they'll be barred from participating in certain Church rituals.

That might seem like a small thing to outsiders, but these bans would jeopardize a saint's place in heaven, which is what so much of Mormon life is geared towards.

It's the kind of threat that could have ramifications for Mark's business.

He's made his name dealing in Mormon documents.

If people are afraid that buying them will threaten their place in the afterlife, it might affect his hip pocket.

Luckily for him, he's recently diversified as demographic.

The market for interesting or historically important Mormon materials is lucrative, but relatively small.

So Mark has started collecting and dealing in all manner of other rare documents.

Eventually, his collection swells to include letters by the likes of Beethoven, Emily Dickinson and Edgar Allan Poe.

Some he keeps for his personal stash, while others go up for sale.

In one such deal, he makes the news again when he sells an autographed photo of Al Capone, the infamous Prohibition-era gangster.

The photograph goes for $4,200, a remarkable price considering that Mark tells journalists he only paid $50 for it at a garage sale.

That particular report confuses Mark's regular customer Brent Ashworth.

He sold Mark that Capone picture in a document trade worth about $2,000.

When Mark pays Brent a visit on business, Brent asks him what was up with the fake garage sale story.

But Mark just acts like he has no idea what Brent's talking about.

It's a strange incident, but Mark's too good a dealer for Brent to risk ruining their relationship over it.

Since they first met, Brent's been doing steady business with Mark.

In fact, he and his wife have invested hundreds of thousands of dollars in documents from Mark that fill in details of Mormon history.

They're assets which Brent believes will appreciate and value as time goes by.

What's even more tantalizing than the thought of an increasing fortune, though, is the promise of more letters, like the Martin Harris and Lucy Mack Smith ones Brent bought from Mark last summer.

Those are treasures that affirm Brent's faith as a saint and occupy pride of place in his collection.

But even they pale in comparison to what Mark suggests he has a lead on.

In June of 1844, the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith was being held in prison.

He'd eventually die there, murdered by an angry mob.

But while he was behind bars, he'd sent off several letters to loyal followers, asking them to come to his aid.

The prophet didn't survive his stint in captivity, but his correspondents did.

And Brent boasts to Mark that he's seen two of the letters Smith sent before he died.

Hearing this, Mark tells his friend that he's got a lead on a third letter, likely the very last thing Smith ever committed to paper.

Mark doesn't have it yet.

He has to convince the current owners to part with it first.

But he asks Brent if he'd be interested in buying it.

To say that Brent's interested in the letter would be an understatement.

He's damn near desperate for it.

So Mark promises to come to him when he's ready to deal.

But months go by without any news of Joseph Smith's final letter.

Brent occasionally reminds Mark that he's eager to buy it whenever it becomes available.

But Mark never has any news to share on that score.

Then, just before Christmas in 1983, Mark shows up on Brent's doorstep once more.

He's got another letter, he says, and it's a real doozy.

It's not written by Smith, but it is something wholly central to the history of the Church.

Mark says there's no one else he thought to go to, so Brent is the first to see this specimen.

His curiosity peaked, Brent shows Mark into a study as usual and takes the piece of paper from his friend.

It's not a photocopy of a document, as Mark sometimes brings him, but a typed copy of a letter dated October of 1830.

One of Mark's contacts in New York found the original, he explains, and it'll cost Brent $50,000 if he wants to own it.

However, as Brent reads the typewritten letter in his hands, he feels himself recoiling from it.

He doesn't want this letter in his collection.

He doesn't even want it in his home.

Looking up at Mark, Brent asks him how he knows the letter is authentic.

It seems like the kind of thing a church critic would write, he says.

But Mark's confident he's got a genuine article.

Still, Brent hands the paper back to Mark and tells him that there's no deal to be made here.

The only customer Mark should sell this letter to is the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

They'll know what to do with it.

If this letter gets into anyone else's hands, it could destroy the church.

Disappointed, Mark says good night and heads back to his car.

He's already thinking about who else might want to buy the document.

But the list of potential buyers is short, and the church is at the very top of it.

It's not a conversation Mark's looking forward to, because he knows that the letter he's got is bound to be controversial.

Brent's reaction proved that.

Sure enough, when it does eventually come to light, this document will rock the Mormon Church to its very foundations.

It's just before Christmas 1983 in Salt Lake City.

Gordon B.

Hinckley is in his office, once again meeting with a Mormon who says he has a document to sell to the church.

Although Hinckley's not officially the president of the church, he's currently the healthiest member of senior leadership.

That leaves most of the responsibility resting on his 73-year-old shoulders.

But despite having the authority to act, Hinckley isn't eager to purchase this particular letter.

It certainly seems a remarkable specimen, but the man sitting across from Hinckley handed it over with an air of arrogance, which got things off to a bad start.

Now the man's asking for an incredibly rare $10 Mormon gold coin, which is worth about $100,000 in 1983.

Today, a coin like that would probably fetch closer to a million.

It's a ridiculous request to make for a single document, even one as embarrassing as the letter Hinckley has in his hands.

So Hinckley gives it back to the younger man and tells him that he's not interested.

The document trades just getting too expensive, Hinckley explains, so the church will have to pass.

Lynn Jacobs, the man in possession of the letter, is surprised.

He was so confident that the church would meet his asking price.

Now he has to go back to his friend, Mark Hoffman, and explain that he's failed to make the deal.

For his part, Mark never expected that the church would actually pay 100 grand for the letter.

But it had been hard to rein Lynn in.

He'd been so excited to act as Mark's proxy for the deal.

Because despite having done business with the LDS in the past, Mark didn't want to bring them this particular letter himself.

It's so explosive, he thinks, that offering to sell it might come across as extortion.

That's why he went to Lynn in the first place.

He thought a third party might shield him from any fallout.

Now, he doesn't know what to do.

The document trade is his business, so he can't just donate artifacts to the church.

Especially not when they're as important and valuable as this one.

Like the first letter Mark sold to Brent Ashworth, this new find bears the signature of early Mormon convert Martin Harris.

But it's by far the most controversial document Mark's ever turned up.

The letter is dated October 23rd, 1830, and in it Harris writes to another convert to describe his early interactions with the Mormon prophet Joseph Smith.

The meandering text refers to Smith finding the golden plates, as well as to various dreams Harris himself was having at the time.

The most striking part of the letter, however, is what's missing.

There's no mention of the accepted Mormon story of an angel showing Smith where the plates are buried.

Instead, according to this letter, Smith apparently encountered a spirit which took the form of a white salamander guarding the buried treasure.

If the letter is authentic, then it might just change everything Mormons think they know about the birth of their religion.

And Mark is hesitant to be the one who pokes at this particular sore spot.

Still, with his proxy salesman striking out with Hinkley, and with the private collectors like Brent Ashworth not interested, he has no choice.

Knowing that the church is reluctant to buy such a contentious document, Mark goes to them with a suggestion.

Perhaps they could find a wealthy saint who would happily pay for the letter and donate it to the church archives instead.

When LDS leaderships say they like the idea, Mark knows exactly who to call.

Through his contacts, he's heard of a devout young businessman who loves collecting rare books, who has money to spare, and who loves nothing more than a chance to serve his church.

His name is Stephen Christensen.

In less than two years, Stephen Christensen will become the first victim of the Salt Lake City bombings.

But right now, Steve is a successful partner in an investment firm, with hopes of rising high in Utah.

Once he hears that the church wishes for him to buy the Salamander letter and donate it to their archives, Steve is only too happy to help.

He meets with Mark in January of 1984 and they start discussing terms.

Initially, Mark asks for $50,000, but they eventually settle on $40,000.

The price is high, but Steve is a shrewd businessman.

He knows if he buys the letter now and has it authenticated, it will be worth even more.

If he then donates it to the church, it will represent a sizable tax write-off and reduce the amount he's required to donate to the church the following year.

Like all Mormons, Steve is expected to tithe 10% of his earnings every year.

He's clearly given the matter a lot of thought, and once the deal is done, he asks Mark to keep the contents of the letter secret.

But although Mark swears he's not told anyone else about the Salamander letter, he's lying.

He's already shown it to several people during his hunt for a buyer.

That search led him to a loosely connected community of scholars, former saints, and historians who want the freedom to explore the church's past.

Some are faithful Mormons who are sure the religion could handle the scrutiny historians put it through.

Others are determined to prove the church was built on lies.

And documents like the Salamander letter could prove a dangerous weapon in their arsenal if they get their hands on it.

So while Steve has hired experts to get to work proving that the letter isn't some kind of forgery, they have no idea that the entire deal is a ticking bomb.

Sooner or later, there's going to be collateral damage.

Not that Mark is particularly concerned with the consequences of his document deals, not even when they turn up on his doorstep.

Late one night, Mark Hoffman is startled awake by a pounding on his front door.

As he rouses himself from bed, the banging is replaced by the repeated blaring of a car horn in his driveway.

Whoever's outside will wake the entire neighborhood soon, so Mark hurries downstairs.

Throwing the door open, he finds Brent Ashworth on the step, his face twisted into a snarl.

Before Mark can even ask what's wrong, Brent starts firing accusations at him, screaming that he's a liar, an untrustworthy cheat.

Brent's just found out that Mark sold a letter to another collector, but he's not talking about the Salamander letter.

He's angry about Joseph Smith's final letter, the one he sent from jail just hours before he was murdered, the one Mark had promised to sell to Brent if he ever got his hands on it.

But instead, Brent has just discovered that Mark sold the letter to some dentist in Arizona.

He didn't even give Brent a chance to see it.

It's all true, of course.

There's no point in Mark trying to deny any of what Brent's saying.

But there's also nothing Mark can say that will make Brent feel better, so he doesn't offer any explanation.

The money was good, the deal is done, and there's no one doing it now.

Joseph Smith's last letter belongs to someone else, and Brent will just have to live with it.

Brent can't believe Mark's callous response.

He thought they were friends.

To Mark Hoffman, though, none of this is personal.

It's just business.

But it's a business that's about to get personal for a lot of people.

And eventually, things are also going to get bloody.

From Airship, this is episode 2 in a series about The Salt Lake City Bombings.

On the next episode, news of the Salamander Letter makes waves around the world, but it's something else entirely that inspires the mastermind of The Salt Lake City Bombings.

We used 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, and the documentary series Murder Among the Mormons.

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 Shahzeed.

Sound Design by Matthew Filler.

Music by Thrum.

This episode is written and researched by Joel Cowen.

Managing Producer Emily Burke.

Executive Producers are Joel Cowen, William Simpson and Lindsey Graham for Airship.