Prime Crime: Solved Murders - The Eleventh Circuit Mail Bombings

Episode Date: June 14, 2023

Around Christmas 1989, a series of pipe bombs sent through the mail killed two of its intended targets: Judge Robert Vance and attorney Robbie Robinson. Federal investigators set out to capture a serial bomber. Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

Due to the graphic nature of this murder case, listener discretion is advised. This episode includes dramatizations and discussions of murder, domestic violence, racism, and rape. We advise extreme caution for children under 13. December 18, 1989. It was a stressful Monday for Jacksonville NAACP branch president, Willie Dennis. Don't forget, Leo, Christmas dinner starts at 3 p.m. sharp next week. That means I need you ready. at 2 o'clock. Someone's got to help me with the ham? Morning, Mrs. Dennis. I got your mail here.

And a package. Thank you. Hmm. You wouldn't believe it, Leo. Members send packages for Christmas and don't even put my name on them. All right, I've got to head out into this God-forsaken rain. Wish me luck. Hello? My car broke down and I need a toe. Of course right now. It's pouring out here. Thank you. I'm at Moncrief and Edgecliffe. So, Leo, I'm at the car rental, and first it's we only have one car. Then she tells me it's a sports car. Leo, she didn't want me driving that car. I almost said, I'll call the NAACP on you.

Wait, I am the NAACP. Now I know I'm late, but I need a car to get to work tomorrow, don't I? I'll be home soon. Hello? Good morning to you, too. You're calling awfully early. No, I haven't. What happened?

My God, that's terrifying. Wait, an anonymous package? Holy mother of Jesus. I have to call the police. Hi, yes, it's Willie Dennis at the NACP. Listen, I think there's a bomb in my office. Welcome to Solved Murders, True Crime Mysteries, a Spotify original from Parcast. I'm your host Carter Roy.

And I'm your host Wendy McKenzie. Every Wednesday we step into the world of true crimes, most fascinating murder cases, and tell the tale of how real-life detectives close the case. You can find episodes of Solve Murders and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free exclusively on Spotify. This is our episode on the 11th Circuit and, mail bombings. We'll cover the infamous 1989 case where a series of pipe bombs went off shortly before Christmas. We'll meet the bomb's intended targets and follow the investigation that uncovered one man's senseless plan for revenge. We have all that and more coming up. Stay with us.

December 16th, 1989, Mountain Brook, Alabama, a small wealthy suburb of Birmingham. Charles Ashby parked his car and walked up the Vance family driveway, but he didn't make it to the doorbell. Helen Vance, the neighbor he'd come to help, sat paralyzed in her van. When she rolled down the window, Charles' eyes widened. Helen's usually neat hair was frizzy. Her face was sliced up, and rivulets of blood trickled across her dust-covered skin. Helen, are you all right? Charles, it's Bob.

He was opening a package in the kitchen, then something. I think it was a bomb. Okay, we're going to get you help, but you need to be washed up. Let me drive you. Helen? I said a bomb went off in our home. A bomb! Do you hear me?

I hear you, Helen. Please, come with me. We've called an ambulance. Charles, we don't need an ambulance. My husband is already dead. Do you hear me? bum is dead. Though the shock of watching her husband die

kept her from realizing it, Helen Vance was brutally injured. Shrapnel punctured her lung and liver causing internal bleeding. Luckily, the Ashby's were able to get her into an ambulance. As Helen rode away down the suburban street, so did any sense of safety in Mountain Brook.

Someone had murdered a man in his own home. without even stepping inside. But soon, law enforcement realized it might not only be a murder, but an assassination. Bob Vance was a federal judge, serving on the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. The Vance's were a political family. Bob's son was a respected attorney. His brother was in the CIA, and Bob himself was friends with former President Jimmy Carter. After 12 years on the appeals court, 58-year-old Bob had his sight set on becoming a Supreme Court justice.

Sadly, he never got the chance to sit on the high court. Instead, the FBI was investigating the explosion in his kitchen. Once they confirmed it was a mail bomb, the case also fell under the purview of the ATF, otherwise known as the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms. As more federal agents flooded into the wealthy suburb, news of Vance's murder spread through U.S. government circles, reaching all the way to the top. Soon even President George H.W. Bush heard the news. In the American justice system, the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals is just one step below the Supreme Court. It hears cases from Alabama, Georgia, and Florida.

That means every day Vance ruled on court decisions. that were highly controversial, setting the law of the South. This line of work didn't win the judge many friends. According to the documentary series FBI, Criminal Pursuit, which covered the case, Vance's decisions impacted, quote, Colombian drug lords, the Aryan Brotherhood, and the Ku Klux Klan. Any one of these groups could have been angry enough at Vance to want to assassinate him. But as agents considered Vance's background, they reached a chilling revelation.

Appeals court judges work in rotating groups of three. If Bob Vance was killed in response to a ruling, two other judges were in imminent danger. The FBI sent out a warning across Alabama, Georgia, and Florida, putting the entire 11th Circuit on high alert. At the courthouse in Atlanta, incoming mail was scanned for explosives. Given that it was the week before Christmas, there were a lot of packages. On December 18th, the scanner's alarm blared. Employees dropped everything and ran. The scanner had picked up on a small box containing a metal cylinder

the same size and shape as the pipe bomb that killed Judge Vance. As the ATF raced in, they confirmed everyone's worst fear. Someone was targeting the 11th Circuit. With extreme care, ATF agents removed the bomb from the courthouse and transported it to the outskirts of the city. Normally, they'd set it off in the open field of a bomb testing range, where it couldn't hurt anyone. But this wasn't just a bomb.

It was evidence in a murder invention. investigation. It was important to keep the device in one piece. That way investigators could analyze its design to build a profile on Judge Vance's assassin. So they went with a much riskier plan, disarming the bomb. Once it was transported to the test site, agents deposited the wrapped package into a pit, standing at a distance and dawning protective gear, they looked down at the deadly brown box. One of the more senior agents, Bob Holland, took over.

Under his lead, the ATF sent in remote-controlled robots to separate the cardboard without tripping the circuit inside. Twenty years and I've never seen one like this. Looks like another detonator might be inside the pipe. Let me out the controls. Sir, isn't this below your pay grade? I won't let anyone else be the one to screw this up. If things go haywire, it'll be on me. You're about to retire.

Which is why I'm standing all the way back here. Respectfully, Agent Holland, it's a tax job to... I've got a firm grip on the joystick, just let me go out with a bang kid. Not literally. Look, I'll tap it just hard enough to break open at the end. This corner. See? There we go. Well done, sir. Agent Holland managed to disarm the bomb while keeping it mostly in one piece. Now the ATF could try to figure out who was behind the attack. Meanwhile, across the state in Savannah, Attorney Robbie Robinson wrapped up in the courtroom.

But his workday wasn't done yet. Robinson stopped by his office in Midtown. 42-year-old Robinson was a notable figure in Savannah. He was one of the city's few black councilmen and a lawyer for the NAACP. Robinson was well known for his civil rights work, which spanned all the way back to desegregating his high school as a teen. But even after 30-plus years, his work in the community was never done. In fact, that night, December 18, 1989, Robinson was headed to a Christmas party at a local church. But first, he had calls to return and letters to open.

Amid the envelopes on his desk, Robinson spotted a box labeled priority mail. It seemed like the sender wanted to make sure it arrived before Christmas. Robinson opened it. Within an hour, the attorney was in the ER undergoing emergency surgery. Federal agents descended on the smoldering office, including the FBI, the local fire department, and even the USPS, since the bomb had been sent in the mail. Frankly, a veteran ATF agent based in Savannah, took charge of the crime scene. Meanwhile, doctors worked frantically to save Robinson, but by 9 p.m. that night,

the mail bomber had taken its second victim. Robbie Robinson was dead. With this tragedy, the connection between Judge Bob Vance and Robinson, became obvious. Robinson had argued civil rights cases in the 11th Circuit Court. Robinson's death spurred a theory. The killer was a white supremacist. Yes, Judge Vance was white, but back in 1966, he took a historic stance against white supremacy. That same year, he became chairman of the Alabama Democratic Party, and one of his first acts was removing the phrase, white supremacy from the party's emblem.

You heard Carter Wright. Up until 1966, the official logo of the Alabama Democratic Party promoted white supremacy. That was only 13 years before the bombings. This white supremacist theory solidified when a fourth mail bomb arrived at the NAACP's Jacksonville headquarters. The strange package was delivered to the office of Brent. President Willie Dennis on December 18th. But in a stroke of luck, Dennis heard about the bomb that had killed Robinson before she opened it. Dennis put the pieces together and notified her local

police department. Within hours, the ATF was dismantling another bomb. It was the fourth in four days, spread across Alabama, Florida, and Georgia. All three states under the jurisdiction of the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals. Now familiar with the process, the ATF agents safely dismantled the bomb, but when they looked into the box, the agent's jaws dropped. Next to the disarmed bomb, there were four typewriter-written letters. The letters threatened harm to lawyers, judges, and officers of the NAACP. But that wasn't all.

The sender wrote that all of their future crimes and communications could be identified by a code number. 010187. That same day in Atlanta, ATF agent Bob Holland joined some colleagues for a monthly lunch. They often used this time to talk shop, and today Holland's story of the mail bombs took center stage. He showed the others photos of each of the explosives.

Look at this picture. All I see is black. That's because the killer spray painted the device. We think he was trying to cover up his fingerprints. This is the bomb that was sent to the NAACP, 5.5 inches of pipe, smokeless gunpowder, and nails around the outside. Now look at this one. Pieces of the Mountain Brook bomb. They match up, see? Is that writing in the background? That's a goose. What is it? Some kind of calling card? All these guys think they're the zodiac, I swear. Would you let me finish?

Now, here's a picture from the Atlanta bomb. Look, goose print paper towels. And there, a pie pan, the clicker of a ballpoint pen. He's building bombs in his kitchen. Now you understand me. But the worst part is he's good at it. After welding the gunpowder inside, this guy took the time to thread a bolt through the center of the pipe so it would all stay tight. The tighter the pipe, the bigger the explosion.

These bombs are more dangerous than usual. Even for the builder, every twist. He risks blowing off his face. This is a man who cares more about hurting his targets than his own safety. He's angry, vengeful. He's definitely lost a case in the 11th Circuit. I've never seen a bomb like this. No one I've spoken with has.

Wait, haven't you seen one, Lloyd? A forensic chemist at the ATF, Lloyd Irwin took over Holland's spotlight. Irwin had seen a bomb like this, just once back in 1972. Irwin grabbed a piece of paper and quickly sketched the bomb from memory. In over 20 years in the field, this case stuck with him. He couldn't draw the bomb perfectly because he'd only seen it after it exploded, but he was certain about something.

That bomb also had a long bolt screw. through the middle. As Irwin recalled, it exploded on a woman named Hazel Moody in her own home. Luckily, Hazel lived. Everyone assumed her husband, Roy Moody, built the bomb, but the state couldn't prove it. They could only convict Moody of possessing the bomb, which got him a three-year prison sentence. Now, 17 years and four bombs later, Lloyd Irwin thought that device might have been a

prototype for the ones they were dealing with now. By the end of lunch, ATF agents were convinced Roy Moody was their bomber. But before they could pursue the lead, the men received shocking news. The FBI had also found a suspect, someone with a direct link to the bombs. And it wasn't Roy Moody. Coming up, federal agents tracked down their man. Now, back to the story. On December 27, 1989, Atlanta anchorwoman Brenda Wood received an odd letter at work.

It claimed to come from a group called Americans for a competent federal judicial system. The writer blamed the federal courts for the recent rape and murder of a young white woman named Julie Love. They also wrote that the mail bombs sent to officials tied to the 11th Circuit Court of Appeals were revenge for. her death. At the time, two men had been charged for Julie's murder and had yet to be convicted. But what infuriated the letter writer most about the case was the fact that the two men were black. The letter read, Anytime a black man rapes a white woman in Alabama, Florida, or Georgia in the future, Americans for a competent federal judicial system shall assassinate one federal judge, one attorney,

and one officer of the NAACP. Brenda was likely no stranger to hate mail. She was a black anchorwoman in the South. But this one was especially upsetting because two weeks before, someone had attacked a judge, an attorney, and a leader in the NACP by mailing each of them pipe bombs.

Only one target had survived. Brenda shared the letter with the FBI, who quickly confirmed it was a credible threat. It included the same secret code they'd seen in other messages from the bomber, 010187. But after looking at the letter closely, investigators spotted something odd about the numbers. The font for the ones was different from the rest.

On a typewriter, that meant the key had been replaced with one that didn't match. FBI agents re-examined the bomber's first letter and realized it had that exact quirk. This meant if they could find any other letters with the same mismatched one, they could potentially identify the bomber. FBI agents dug into the 11th Circuit Court archives. They only had to go back a year before they found a lead. Back in 1987, a man named Robert Wayne O'Farrell sued his former,

employer over denied insurance benefits and lost. In 1989, O'Farrell appealed to the 11th Circuit court, but he didn't hire a lawyer. He filed his case himself using his personal typewriter. A typewriter with a mismatched one key. O'Farrell's appeal was denied and his filings were archived. The denying judge, Bob Vance. The FBI also looked into Oferral's background and discovered that his family had white supremacist ties. Everything was falling into place. The FBI and ATF descended on the Oferrals, searching every inch of their property. They even pumped out their home septic tank.

But they found no evidence that he'd built the pipe bombs. As for the unique typewriter, O'Farrell's wife had sold it. She didn't remember the buyer's name, but she was willing to help identify their face. Maybe that would help move the investigation forward. The problem was everyone had been certain O'Farrell was the bomber. Not just federal officials, but media outlets and the general public. President Bush even mentioned the case in the State of the Union address. After all that, the FBI couldn't just admit they'd been wrong.

They got to thinking, maybe Mrs. O'Farrow lied about the typewriter. The authorities continued to investigate the couple. Despite this, a few agents followed a completely different lead, Roy Moody. They were suspicious of him ever since learning that he was suspected of building a pipe bomb identical to the 11th Circuit bombs back in 1972. On the trail, ATF agent Frank Lee made a trip to make a huge.

Georgia, where he could access court documents from cases Moody had been involved in. There were a lot of documents. Agent Lee spent the night in Macon reading every word he could about Roy Moody. Moody was the kind of man who killed his neighbor's plants if they grew over his property line. Moody was so litigious, his lawyer charged him by the hour, rather than taking a percentage of their winnings. Moody once told a girlfriend that the perfect crime was a bomb that blew up all the evidence. He was well-groomed.

Organized. Maticulous. The evidence stacked up line by line. By morning, Agent Lee was convinced Roy Moody was a man who built bombs. Robert Wayne O'Farrell, not a chance. But perhaps because of the O'Farrell fiasco, getting a search warrant for Roy Moody was nearly impossible. The ATF got rejected. Rejected again, then rejected a third time. Hoping for new evidence, Agent Lee tracked down Moody's ex-wife, Hazel Strickland.

She was injured by the 1972 bomb, which exploded in her own home. Hazel agreed to speak with Agent Lee, but it wasn't easy for her. Over a decade later, she still bristled at the mention of her ex-husband. You want to know about Moody? Look him up. He's at his dealings with the law. Cigarette? No, thanks.

Oh, your hand. What about it? Did the explosion cause you to lose that finger? I don't want this getting back to Moody. He won't know we've spoken. Yeah, the bomb blew my finger. Messed up my eye too. That's all in court documents, if anyone asks.

Can you tell you? Tell me about that day. He told me to stay out of the room where he was keeping the bomb. I didn't listen. I went in, opened the box, and it burned me right up. Moody said it was my fault for not doing what he said. Would you say Moody is a domineering man, even now? Look, I haven't seen him in 13 years and hope I never do again.

But you never know. He's the father of my kid. What's he like as a co-parent? He tried to get the ACLU involved in our divorce. They said no. He said he was discriminated against as a father, while he was in jail for having a bomb in our home. You heard that from the ACLU, not me.

Oh, and he still owes me child support. That's on public record. Tell me, do you think Roy Moody is behind these recent attacks? I can't say he's in the KKK if that's what you're looking for. I need another smoke, what one? Sure. Now, Miss Strickland, I know you're afraid of what Moody might do if he finds out you spoke to me. But I need you to understand.

If Roy Moody is found guilty of sending the mail bombs, he'll go to prison for the rest of his life. The rest of his life? Only if we find proof. All right, I'll tell you the whole. story, what's not on the record. Hazel believed Moody didn't just buy the bomb that hurt her. He built it. As for who it was meant for? Well, Moody started tinkering shortly after the couple's car was repossessed. He had it out for the car dealer. But that wasn't the only person on his hit list. Agent Lee also learned that back in 1982,

Moody was accused of attempting to murder his colleagues over a dispute, but because of a mistrial, he never served jail time. The combined evidence filled in enough blanks to finally get a search warrant on Roy Moody's home. They also obtained a warrant to fingerprint and search Moody himself, as well as his current wife, Susan. On February 8, 1990, the ATF arrived at their home in Rex. Georgia. But when Frank Lee and the other agents arrived, it was just Moody. Susan wasn't there, so they waited. Do you have any idea when your wife might be back, Mr. Moody? I'm not saying anything until my lawyer returns my call and says your warrant is good. In the meantime, we need to know if you

have any firearms on the premises. No, but you can't search for any without a warrant. I know my rights. You have the warrant in your hands. Page seven. Excuse me. Hello? This is Roy Moody. You're sure I have to. All right, I'll get copies. Goodbye. That was my attorney. We'll allow the search if I can keep a copy of the warrant. The one you have is yours to keep. Sounds like Susan's finally back. We'll cooperate, but let's make this quick and painless, all right? I wouldn't want to have to sue over misconduct.

All right, boys. Let's start in the living room. Hi, Susan, baby. These men are just taking a look around. They'll be out of here soon. Yes, Susan, you can use the bathroom. Just so long as none of these boys watch you in there. Does she always ask for permission to use the bathroom? I'm the man of the house.

By the time agents completed their search, they'd found fresh paint, new carpet, and not much else. They quickly concluded that the Moody's had cleared the house of anything incriminating. Worse, neither of their fingerprints matched the one the ATF had found on the letter from the killer. It felt impossible to press charges, but the FBI didn't have to worry about bringing Moody to court because soon he announced that he was suing them. Coming up, Roy Moody has his day in court. And now back to the story.

In February 1990, federal investigators had spent two months, backing down the architect of a series of mail bombings that killed Judge Vance and Attorney Robbie Robinson. After the FBI's first suspect was a bust, the ATF narrowed in on Roy Moody. Moody certainly lined up with the FBI's profile of the bomber, methodical, litigious, and intelligent, the type of man who gives Mensa a bad rap. He was also the kind who saw himself as the victim in every situation. After the ATF executed a search warrant on his home, Moody announced he was suing the government. He claimed he had a case for unlawful search and seizure.

He even wrote a letter appealing to President George H.W. Bush. As far as we can tell, the president never responded. And Moody never actually filed the charges. The only thing that came of it was that his attorney quit. In the meantime, investigators continued. tracking his movements and phone records. The most intriguing were his calls with a woman named Julie Lynn West. She testified for Moody's defense when he appealed his 1972 bomb conviction.

But according to both of their courtroom testimonies, Moody and Julie didn't know each other. Julie testified that a man named Gene Wallace built the bomb and that she was with Gene when he dropped it off at Moody's house. Supposedly, she and Moody's time in court together was the extent of their relationship. But that trial had been years ago. So why was he talking to Julie Lynn West now? Investigators knocked on her door to find out.

Julie was a polite, blonde woman in a wheelchair. She'd heard about the 11th Circuit case, just like everyone, and didn't mind talking to authorities. But after a few questions, Julie fell apart. She admitted that after being introduced by a mutual friend, Roy Moody paid her $1,500 to lie in court. There was no Gene Wallace, and she never went to Moody's house in 1972, and Susan Moody coached her on the whole story.

Julie knew she'd committed perjury, but she was a single mother and paralyzed. money was hard to come by, and Moody had offered her a lot of it. How could she refuse? Julie's confession wasn't grounds to charge Roy Moody for murder, but it was evidence of a destruction of justice. If they could catch him confessing to the smaller crime on tape, they could get him behind bars,

which might just scare him into confessing everything. Agents offered Julie immunity if she helped with the investigation, then testified against Moody in court. She agreed, and the agents outlined their plan. She'd wear a hidden recording device and talk to Roy Moody. Within a few weeks, the FBI and ATF had Moody on tape, saying he'd pay Julie for perjury again if he faced new charges. His wife Susan would once again coach her on the story.

Just like that, the investigators had exactly what they needed. On July 10th, 1990, the FBI arrested Roy and Susan Moody for obstruction of justice. Both Roy and Susan went to jail, but before long, Susan's family bailed her out. For the first time since the investigation began, the couple was separated. And once she was free of her controlling husband, Susan was never going back. By November, Susan had filed for divorce, agreed to a plea bargain, and confessed everything to the authorities. It may seem like a sudden turn, but Susan wasn't her husband's loyal follower. She was his victim.

Though she had her own legal trouble, Moody's arrest was the best thing that could have happened to Susan. She was finally able to safely separate herself from him, so she spared no details to authorities. It all started in a waffle house. It was in the summer of 1981, and Susan was a teen waitress slinging hash browns and coffee. Roy Moody was irregular. So much older and smarter, at least in the eyes of an 18-year-old. He had big and important secrets. She could never understand them.

Susan fell in love with Moody. By the end of the year, they were living together, and soon they were each other's whole. world, Moody made sure of it. He was twice Susan's age and she'd known him less than a year. He started exerting control over Susan, first by cutting her off from her black friends, then he isolated her from everyone else, including her family. He didn't allow Susan much time to think about this either.

Moody trained her to help with his business ventures, a series of predatory mail scam. Before long, Susan was doing all of the work for no pay. She'd been conned into running a con. Moody never gave her a dime. Even when the business started bringing in six figures, enough for a nice house and two boats. Though Susan knew better than to ask, what started as belittling in financial abuse,

grew to sexual humiliation and physical harm. Moody was so cruel, Susan says, she developed battered woman syndrome. She felt all she could do was obey. Some time in the mid-80s, Moody glommed onto the idea of becoming a lawyer. But as he explored the career path, he realized it wasn't possible. He had a criminal record from the bomb possession conviction in 1972. So in an effort to get his record wiped clean, Moody appealed his case. But no judge would hear it. The crime was over a decade old and he'd already served out his sentence. In the eyes of the judicial system, it was water under the bridge.

If Moody wanted to be heard, he'd need new evidence. So he invented it, with help from Susan, of course. They created a fake story and through a friend, Moody found a destitute young woman willing to lie for money, Julie Lynn West. It was enough to get Moody a hearing in 19. But he was still denied. So Moody appealed a second time, sending the case up to the 11th Circuit Court. Once again, Moody paid Julie Lynn West to lie under oath. And once again, his appeal was denied. But Moody wasn't done yet.

He could still try to bring his case to the Supreme Court. While he waited to hear back, he read the other 11th Circuit Court decisions. Maybe he was trying to strengthen his Supreme Court. or maybe he was obsessing over his latest rejection. This is where Judge Bob Vance enters Roy Moody's story. Vance was the presiding judge over a case involving the Jacksonville branch of the NAACP. He ruled in their favor and said there was no expiration date for writing racial injustices. Willie Dennis was president of the Jacksonville NACP.

Around this time, the 11th Circuit Court heard another similar case. This one didn't involve Vance, but the lead attorney was Robbie Robinson. Again, the court ruled in favor of writing racial injustices. Moody was incensed. My case is old news, but theirs weren't? I'm being discriminated against for being white. Somehow he failed to understand the difference between overturning a criminal conviction and ending a history of segregation.

Because of his ignorance, Moody thought he deserved revenge. Over the next few months, he sent Susan on a series of odd errands. Get paper towels from the next town over. Buy scissors, but use a fake name. Pick up cardboard boxes. Shoplift nails. Don't let anyone see where you park. And wear this wig.

Your hair's a mess anyway. Susan drew the line at shoplifting, so Moody stole the nails himself. His behavior grew worse. He'd set fires in the yard. Some days he'd wear scrubs and a mask inside the house. Then, Moody forbade Susan from entering the bedroom, which he'd turned into his private lab. I'm researching cold fusion. You wouldn't understand it.

Susan obeyed and didn't ask questions. Roy kept her preoccupied with tracking down a typewriter. No matter how hard Susan tried, she could never find the one Roy wanted. So she kept buying more. She couldn't remember exactly when or where she wound up buying all the typewriters. But investigators had a pretty good idea. They called up the FBI's initial suspects, the O'Farrells, the ones who owned the typewriter connected to the mail bombs and claimed to have sold it.

If the O'Farrells could independently identify Susan as their buyer, authorities would have a firm link between the bombs and Roy Moody. Eager to clear their names, the O'Farrells agreed. In October 1990, Mrs. O'Farrell stood on the other side of the glass as a group of women filed into a lineup. Everyone waited on pins and needles as she assessed the row. It didn't take long. Looking down the line, Mrs. O'Farrell easily identified the woman she'd sold the typewriter to, Susan Moody.

That put the offending typewriter and Roy Moody's hands in 1989. Mrs. O'Farrell had corroborated Susan's account, but she wasn't the only one. Because after Moody had typed up his letters, he'd given Susan further instructions. Go to the printers and get copies. Make sure those sneaks don't read it. Now, in the fall of 1990, Susan led investigators to that very same print shop. She pointed out the teenage employee who'd helped her. The boy agreed to submit his fingerprints to see if they matched the ones found on the letters. And they did.

Thanks to Susan Moody, Mrs. O'Farrell, and the print shop employee, the DA had what he needed to charge Roy Moody with murder. On November 7th, 1990, the grand jury indicted him. Preparations for a trial began. In the process, investigators listened to recordings from Moody's cell, which they had bugged since his arrest. They knew Moody had a tendency to talk to himself. It was maybe their best chance of getting a confession. The following are direct quotes from the tapes.

I can get us a mail bomb. Man, if you have to have a confession. Even delivered the mail pump? What the heck did the government expect? While not a direct confession, the tapes would clinch the prosecution's case. Though the defense did have one thing in their favor, a trial in St. Paul, Minnesota. Given the scope of the murders and the 11th Circuit Court, all local judges would have been too biased to work on the case. After all, any one of them could have fallen victim to the bombs. So they moved the proceedings out of state. But even with an unbiased judge, Moody's defense team had a tough job.

Even his own friends testified against him. One of these friends, a man named Ted Banks, recounted that Moody came to visit him in Florida in 1989. Banks said Moody asked him for welding help, creating sealed square end pieces for small lengths of pipe. Looking at the pipes, Banks couldn't help but ask Moody if he was held. helping him build a bomb. Moody said no. Banks didn't ask any further questions. However, when Moody asked Banks to help him buy gunpowder, he refused. They were both ex-fellons. It was illegal for them to purchase explosives. So Moody found a workaround, according to a local gun shop owner. The owner testified that in 1989, a man wearing a bright

orange wig and pink sunglasses entered his shop. The man proceeded to buy four pounds of Hercules red dot smokeless gunpowder. The owner remembered the day vividly not just for the ridiculous outfit, but because he'd never sold that much gunpowder in a single sale before. And despite the costume, the owner could pick Roy Moody out of a lineup. The prosecution made a strong case. The man convicted for building a bomb wanted to prove he hadn't. So he built more bombs. The irony was lost on no one.

As for Roy Moody's defense, that rested on Moody himself. Against his attorney's counsel, Roy Moody spent three days on the witness stand. He seemed to think that this was his chance to clear his name of the 1972 bombing. He railed about it for hours. When he finally reached the crimes at hand, Moody claimed the FBI set him up and the real criminal was his former attorney. Not only did he accuse the lawyer of mailing the explosives,

Moody said the man was a KKK sympathizer and the bombings were hate crimes. Naturally, the court was skeptical. After all, Roy Moody had committed perjury before, on multiple occasions. But he wouldn't get away with that. it this time. After a short deliberation, the jury found him guilty. A few months later, the judge handed Moody seven consecutive life sentences and the death

penalty. But for him, that was hardly the end. Even on death row, Moody was obsessed with proving himself innocent of his original crime. He continued to appeal his 1972 conviction, as if he didn't understand that life in prison, meant he would never become a lawyer. For the next 27 years, Moody remained a con artist, seeking investors for new fake businesses from behind bars. In 2018, at age 83, he was executed. It was a form of punishment his first victim, Judge Bob Vance,

had personally opposed. In the end, the FBI concluded that the 11th District Court was Moody's real target. all the individuals outside the court were simply collateral. Though it was one of their largest investigations, the FBI's website states that the case's racist overtones were a smokescreen meant to hide the attack on the American government. After all, Moody wasn't in a white supremacist group. But going through the case, it's clear that even if committing a hate crime

wasn't Moody's sole objective, hate was a motivation. Roy Moody always believed he was superior, entitled to whatever he wanted, and the changes brought by the civil rights movement threatened that. Suddenly, he wasn't on top, and that made him angry enough to build bombs. He might have been just one man's smoke screening as a terrorist group, but one man is all it takes to commit a hate crime. Thanks again for tuning into solved murders. We'll be back next Wednesday with a new episode.

For more information on the 11th Circuit bombings, amongst the many sources we used, we found Priority Mail by Mark Winnie, Blind Vengeance by Ray Jenkins, the Forensic Files episode Deadly Delivery, and the FBI Criminal Pursuit episode Murder by Mail, all extremely helpful to our research. You can find all episodes of solved murders and all other Spotify originals from Parcast for free on Spotify. We'll see you next time. Solve Murder's True Crime Mysteries is a Spotify original from Parcast, executive produced by Max Cutler. Our head of programming is Julian Bois Roe. Our supervising sound designer is Russell Nash, with Nick Johnson as our head of production and quality control by Lisa Marie Gallegos.

Stacey Nemek is our supervising editor, and Derek Jennings is our writing lead. This episode of Solve Murders is written, by Maggie Admire, edited by Sarah Batchelor and Alexandra Garland, fact-checked by Claire Cronin, researched by Mickey Taylor, produced by Joshua Kern, and sound design by Brian Gallup. It stars Tiana Camacho, Zelda Diana Black, Joe Hernandez, Tommy Arseniega, and Charlie Wes. Our hosts are Wendy McKenzie and me, Carter Roy.