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It happened seven years ago. The leaves were falling, just like now. As a nation, we were staggering through the first anniversary of 9/11. Then someone began hunting humans around the country's capital and beyond.
For six surreal weeks, the victims fell — selected because they'd wandered into the gun sight, picked off like trophies from the herd.
One by one, at least 20 people were shot. Five were in Virginia. Thirteen people died — dropped by a high-powered rifle as they mowed a lawn, headed to a store, stopped at a gas station.
It took the biggest manhunt in U.S. history to catch John Allen Muhammad, a 41-year-old soldier-turned-auto-mechanic with a grudge against his ex-wife and society. It took 12 jurors from Virginia Beach to convict him and condemn him to death.
After six years of appeals and more than $1 million worth of taxpayer money spent on his defense, the curtain closes Tuesday at 9 p.m., when the state of Virginia intends to execute the Beltway Sniper.
The damage inflicted by Muhammad and his teenage protege, Lee Boyd Malvo, will live on. Those they wounded still hurt. Those they murdered left at least 21 children behind.
Malvo, at 24, is locked up in Virginia's Red Onion super-max prison, serving one of his eight life sentences, each with no possibility of parole.
For millions of others, the snipers' legacy is one of vulnerability. As the toll mounted — five dead in a single day — people gasped at the news and wondered where and when the killers would strike next.
Mundane tasks like fueling up the car were suddenly tinged with danger.
As Paul Ebert, a longtime prosecutor, said during Muhammad's Virginia Beach trial: "I don't know if there's ever been another case quite like this, with such widespread, personal fear."
In Hampton Roads, residents fretted for family and friends around the Beltway and mapped the trail of victims. It seemed inevitable that the snipers would make their way here.
A laptop found in Muhammad's car indicated the snipers had scouted the area.
Three spots were marked on the computer's map — one in Norfolk near Tidewater Park Elementary, one in Hampton just south of where Interstate 64 meets Interstate 664 and another in Newport News near the busy Patrick Henry shopping area.
A shooting outside a steakhouse in Ashland came the closest to home — within 100 miles. Five days and one murder later, a SWAT team surprised a sleeping Muhammad and Malvo at a rest stop in Frederick, Md.
Seven states and the District of Columbia all had casualties. Maryland, with 10 shot, had the most.
Chesapeake was chosen for Malvo's trial, Virginia Beach for Muhammad's.
A jury was assembled in four days — seven women and five men, ranging in age from 20 to 62. Eleven were white, one black.
Bit by bit, the tale unfolded — the story of a deeply troubled man obsessed with military discipline, a chameleon both charming and menacing, who took in an abandoned teenager and masterminded a cross-country killing spree.
Muhammad appeared eerily emotionless during most of the trial. He didn't flinch at the guilty verdict or at the jury's recommendation that he die for his crimes.
In the six years since, Muhammad has become a regular in other courtrooms. He received six life sentences at a trial in Maryland — insurance in case the Virginia verdict was overturned in the gauntlet of appeals that go hand-in-hand with capital punishment.
In the meantime, the clock ticks down at Greensville, a prison north of Emporia. Now 48, Muhammad faces the hour and date of his own death, locked in a cell that's just steps away from the execution chamber.
For six surreal weeks, the victims fell — selected because they'd wandered into the gun sight, picked off like trophies from the herd.
One by one, at least 20 people were shot. Five were in Virginia. Thirteen people died — dropped by a high-powered rifle as they mowed a lawn, headed to a store, stopped at a gas station.
It took the biggest manhunt in U.S. history to catch John Allen Muhammad, a 41-year-old soldier-turned-auto-mechanic with a grudge against his ex-wife and society. It took 12 jurors from Virginia Beach to convict him and condemn him to death.
After six years of appeals and more than $1 million worth of taxpayer money spent on his defense, the curtain closes Tuesday at 9 p.m., when the state of Virginia intends to execute the Beltway Sniper.
The damage inflicted by Muhammad and his teenage protege, Lee Boyd Malvo, will live on. Those they wounded still hurt. Those they murdered left at least 21 children behind.
Malvo, at 24, is locked up in Virginia's Red Onion super-max prison, serving one of his eight life sentences, each with no possibility of parole.
For millions of others, the snipers' legacy is one of vulnerability. As the toll mounted — five dead in a single day — people gasped at the news and wondered where and when the killers would strike next.
Mundane tasks like fueling up the car were suddenly tinged with danger.
As Paul Ebert, a longtime prosecutor, said during Muhammad's Virginia Beach trial: "I don't know if there's ever been another case quite like this, with such widespread, personal fear."
In Hampton Roads, residents fretted for family and friends around the Beltway and mapped the trail of victims. It seemed inevitable that the snipers would make their way here.
A laptop found in Muhammad's car indicated the snipers had scouted the area.
Three spots were marked on the computer's map — one in Norfolk near Tidewater Park Elementary, one in Hampton just south of where Interstate 64 meets Interstate 664 and another in Newport News near the busy Patrick Henry shopping area.
A shooting outside a steakhouse in Ashland came the closest to home — within 100 miles. Five days and one murder later, a SWAT team surprised a sleeping Muhammad and Malvo at a rest stop in Frederick, Md.
Seven states and the District of Columbia all had casualties. Maryland, with 10 shot, had the most.
Chesapeake was chosen for Malvo's trial, Virginia Beach for Muhammad's.
A jury was assembled in four days — seven women and five men, ranging in age from 20 to 62. Eleven were white, one black.
Bit by bit, the tale unfolded — the story of a deeply troubled man obsessed with military discipline, a chameleon both charming and menacing, who took in an abandoned teenager and masterminded a cross-country killing spree.
Muhammad appeared eerily emotionless during most of the trial. He didn't flinch at the guilty verdict or at the jury's recommendation that he die for his crimes.
In the six years since, Muhammad has become a regular in other courtrooms. He received six life sentences at a trial in Maryland — insurance in case the Virginia verdict was overturned in the gauntlet of appeals that go hand-in-hand with capital punishment.
In the meantime, the clock ticks down at Greensville, a prison north of Emporia. Now 48, Muhammad faces the hour and date of his own death, locked in a cell that's just steps away from the execution chamber.
