Bruce Ivins talked little about his family life with co-workers. He partnered with his wife for the folk Masses at St. John -- while he played the keyboards, she sang.
Their daughter, Amanda, lives in Hagerstown, Md., 25 miles northwest of Frederick. Reached last week, she indicated that she would like to talk about her father eventually but said: "When I do, I will do it with my lawyer. . . . I haven't been charged with anything, but I want my lawyer at my side when I talk about my dad."
Her father seemed most at home inside Building 1425, where he worked long hours in his office and in the high-security labs where anthrax spores were cultivated.
When the anthrax letters surfaced in September and October of 2001, killing five people from New York to Florida, Ivins was one of 80 scientists assigned to investigate the source of the highly weaponized spores. They worked around the clock, analyzing more than 33,000 samples.
"He had a reputation for being trusted with these materials," said Ezzell, whose diagnostics division led the search.
But in April 2002, near the end of the testing frenzy, USAMRIID revealed that anthrax contamination had been found in an office and changing room outside a secure area, sparking a partial evacuation of the building. The leak was traced to Ivins, who admitted that there also had been a December 2001 leak inside his office -- a serious violation of protocol -- which he had tried to contain by spreading bleach on the affected area.
As the FBI and USAMRIID's scientists narrowed their search for the anthrax culprit, they turned to Ft. Detrick itself as the source. Many researchers were forced to take polygraph tests, though it remains unclear whether Ivins was one of those scrutinized.
By summer of last year, Ivins was the prime target. FBI agents parked their cars outside his home, so close to his driveway that Ivins had trouble pulling up in his faded red Dodge van, recalled neighbor Robert Duggan.
At work, he wept at his desk. Voice quavering, he told one colleague: "These guys aren't letting up. Sometimes they're following me home. They won't let me breathe."
In November, after he was medically committed to a Maryland mental health center, Ivins' security clearance was canceled, a crushing blow.
In May, Ivins sent an e-mail to the co-worker, saying he intended to retire in September. "We're not well-paid, and we do what we do because it's interesting," Ivins wrote. "If you take away that, there's no reason to stay in science."
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steve.braun@latimes.com
david.zucchino@latimes.com
nicole.gaouette@latimes.com
Times staff writers David Willman in Washington and Charles Piller in San Francisco and researcher Janet Lundblad in Los Angeles contributed to this report.
