Last month, Dr. Bruce E. Ivins died an innocent man.
Days later, authorities sought to shroud his passing in a cloud of guilt.
His wife and children barely had weeks to grieve before the Federal Bureau of Investigation decided to bypass judge and jury and argue their case directly to the public. They announced that he died shortly after he'd heard the Bureau was preparing to serve him with an indictment accusing him of the anthrax murders and resulting scare that occurred shortly after the September 11 attack in 2001.
Not long after he'd drawn his last breath, details of the circumstantial case against Dr. Ivins were leaked, pointing to reports of psychological problems, counseling, and medication he was taking after having bouts of paranoid and delusional thoughts. Many, including the New York Times, hoped a full disclosure of evidence would be more convincing than the revelation that a scientist working for the military was seeing a therapist.
"None of the investigators' major assertions& have been tested in cross-examination or evaluated by outside specialists," an August 8 editorial pointed out. "It is imperative that federal officials make public all of their data so independent experts can judge …."
To counter such skepticism, the FBI held a press conference and detailed a new forensic method that had been developed, proving the anthrax used in the attacks came from a flask in Dr. Ivins' lab. As groundbreaking as the technique was and as potentially useful as it may be in solving future cases, the technique failed to actually place Dr. Ivins at the scene of the crime (the New Jersey post office from which the anthrax-laced letters were mailed) or provide a motive. While the flask in question was in the doctor's lab, at least 10 other chemists also had access to it.
The groundbreaking technique, instead, told the public what they already knew: Dr. Ivins had access to anthrax. While scientists continue to debate the methodology and accuracy of the technique, the public is left to sift through the circumstantial evidence not previously known, probably not even to his own family: the details of his battle with mental illness.
Some of his delusions allegedly involved a sorority he'd been familiar with in his college days whose members he thought were still conspiring against him. Sometimes, allegedly, he drove very long distances, and then, allegedly, turned the odometer back to deceive his wife. Occasionally he got angry and allegedly expressed his rage in writing.
Related in the context of an international manhunt for a serial killer, these details can easily be imbued with sinister purpose, but the living Bruce Ivins was an innocent man. He had a right to fight accusations made against him, and until found guilty by a jury of his peers, the government had no business making his private life public.
Given the many reasonable doubts in the FBI's case, it is possible Mr. Ivins would never even have faced a jury, and if he had, he would likely have had a team of lawyers objecting when such evidence was presented, asking its relevance.
But without Bruce Ivins around to object, the FBI has had the last word.
The first scientist the FBI had identified as a suspect had just settled a $4.6 million lawsuit against them, clearing his name and calling the FBI's conduct into question. Meanwhile, Congress had been demanding that the FBI furnish a progress report on the expensive and meandering investigation.
It is time for Congress to investigate what the FBI has done in its investigation of Bruce Ivins. Senior officials at the agency can only hope that they are treated more fairly than they appear to have treated Ivins.
