Wrongfully Accused Anthrax Suspect Breaks Silence

WASHINGTON (April 16) -- Steven J. Hatfill, the scientist wrongfully accused of being the anthrax killer, has broken his silence in interviews with NBC's "Today" show and The Atlantic magazine.

"I learned a couple things," Hatfill told "Today" host Matt Lauer this morning. "The government can do to you whatever they want. They can break the laws, federal laws, as they see fit. ... You can't turn laws on and off as you deem fit.

"I used to be somebody that trusted the government. Now I really don't trust anything," said Hatfill, who had worked at the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases in Fort Detrick, Md.

In 2001, anthrax-laced letters killed five people and sickened 17. The government frantically searched for the culprit and looked at hundreds of potential suspects.

In 2002, Attorney General John Ashcroft declared Hatfill a "person of interest." Things snowballed from there. The FBI searched his home, interviewed co-workers and, for a while, followed his every move. The media beat the drum and wrote endless stories telling why the FBI, U.S. postal inspectors and the Justice Department thought he was a suspect.

Hatfill sued the Justice Department for besmirching his reputation and harming his livelihood by leaking damaging information about the investigation to the press. In June 2008, the government settled out of court and agreed to pay him $5.8 million. A month later, scientist Bruce Ivins, 62, who the government says was the real culprit, committed suicide. Ivins was about to be indicted in the anthrax murders.

Hatfill told the "Today" show this morning that in 2002, he signed a consent form to let the FBI search his home. Officials told him they would be discreet in their search.

"I walked out into the parking lot and there were already news cameras filming me," Hatfill said, adding that the operation had turned into a big "show."

He said it was unnerving when the FBI ending up following him everywhere.

"It just became a way to harass," Hatfill said. "You go into a restaurant, and they sit down on either side of you.

"You keep thinking, well, this will end, somebody will come to their senses.

"What upsets me, I don't know of any law that permits the FBI to go by your closest friends and say you're not to associate with Dr. Hatfill, you're not to see him. What they're trying to do is socially isolate you as part of the stress."

Hatfill said that what helped him survive the ordeal was the support of a "band of brothers" of "patriots, soldiers, highly decorated" who have stuck by his side to this day.

"That gives you the strength, just to be in their company, to carry on," he said.

The FBI did not immediately respond this morning to the Hatfill interviews.

The FBI has contended all along that it was looking at hundreds of suspects during the investigation and it would have been remiss not to look at Hatfill.

"In the first four months of the investigation, eight individuals brought Dr. Hatfill's name to the attention of the FBI as someone suspected of being involved in the attacks," stated a Justice Department summary of the anthrax case that was released in February and concluded that Ivins was the culprit. The report also listed a host of other reasons for being suspicious about Hatfill, though it said those suspicions were eventually dismissed.

In the Atlantic magazine article, which was posted on its Web site this morning, Hatfill described a second search of his home in 2002. Agents came with a warrant and bloodhounds.

Hatfill petted one of the hounds named Tinkerbell, the magazine reported, and the dog took a liking to him.

"'He's identified you from the anthrax letters!' Tinkerbell's handler exclaimed," according to Hatfill's account to the magazine.

"It took every ounce of restraint to stop from laughing," Hatfill told the magazine. "They said, 'We know you did it. We know you didn't mean to kill anyone.' I said, 'Am I under arrest?' They said no. I walked out, rented a car, and went to see an attorney about suing the hell out of these people."

Hatfill was asked if he ever entertained the idea of committing suicide.

"That was never an option," he told the magazine. "If I would've killed myself, I would've been automatically judged by the press and the FBI to be guilty."

These days, the magazine reports, Hatfill devotes time to teaching life-saving medical techniques to military personnel headed for combat and is an adjunct associate professor of emergency medicine at George Washington University.

"For Hatfill, rebuilding remains painful and slow," according to The Atlantic." He enters post offices only if he absolutely must, careful to show his face to surveillance cameras so that he can't be accused of mailing letters surreptitiously."

Yet, even after his ordeal, Hatfill still professes his love for America.

"My country didn't do this to me," he told The Atlantic. "A bloated, incompetent bureaucracy and a broken press did. I wouldn't be doing what I'm doing today if I didn't still love my country."