Survivors of the anthrax attacks and relatives of the victims expressed relief Friday that the long-running case appears finally to be closed, but they wondered about questions that may never be answered because of the suicide of suspect Bruce E. Ivins.

In Frederick, Bruce E. Ivins was known as the guy, who in the early 1980's founded a juggling club. He was also known as a good neighbor. At Fort Detrick, where he worked, he was known as Dr. Ivins, a scientist who pioneered a vaccine for Anthrax to protect Americas Troops.

But according to sources, about 16 months ago the FBI (web) began to look at Ivins as a suspect in the 2001 anthrax attacks that killed two local employees, and caused panic and fear in the Washington-area. At one point, Ivins had been the agency's go to man for testing the mailed Anthrax, but sometime during the investigation, the agents became suspicious when they discovered spores that cause the deadly infection near Ivins' desk. According to sources, a theory developed that the scientist may have mailed the Anthrax out as a real world test for the vaccine he developed.

Ivin's lawyer called the theory nonsense and in a statement said, "We assert his innocence in these killings and would have established that at trial. Ivins lawyer said, "The relentless pressure of accusation and innuendo...led to his untimely death."

Ivin's suicide and possible link to the anthrax attacks has stunned those who knew the scientist. They believe he simply cracked under the pressure of constant FBI surveillance, and could not have been a killer.

Two of the five people killed in the attacks worked at what was once called the Brentwood Postal Facility in NE Washington. Thomas Morris,55, and Joseph Curseen, 47, died a day apart.

Dena Briscoe was one of the dozens of postal workers who were exposed to anthrax at the Northeast facility. "They were both good workers," Briscoe said of both Curseen and Morris. She says the suicide of anthrax suspect Bruce Ivins is shocking and unexpected. "His family can't get him back and the answers still aren't there," said Briscoe.

Gary Anderson is now retired from the postal service. He, too, worked in the local Brentwood facility and was treated for anthrax exposure. The 61-year-old says the news that Ivins may have been the anthrax killer brings some relief. "Coming by you always wondered who it was; if they were still out there; were they going to repeat what they did," said Anderson. "So it's nice to be able to put a period on this..." 

Around the country, three other people died as a result of the anthrax mailings in 2001, which came soon after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11. Another 17 people were sickened with respiratory and skin infections.

Mark Cunningham, op-ed editor for the New York Post, developed an infection on his face after being exposed to the pathogen at work. He woke up Friday morning, turned on the television, and heard that a previously unknown government scientist had taken his life after the FBI focused on him as the chief suspect in the case.

"The suicide is pretty convincing evidence that it was him," said Cunningham, 45. His newspaper was one of the targets of the mysterious letters containing anthrax that were sent to news media companies and Senate offices. Cunningham said his case began as a small pimple on his forehead at the hairline and quickly grew serious. He was cured after being treated with antibiotics for month.

Cunningham said he hoped the government will make full disclosure of the evidence in the case, but he wondered if some doubts will linger on.

"We will never know for sure - that's life," he said. "But this is good enough for government work. It's better government work than I had expected at this point."

The victims of the attacks came from different walks of life. The first to die was Robert Stevens, 63, a photo editor at the Sun, a supermarket tabloid published in Boca Raton, Fla. Morris, 55, and 47-year-old Joseph Curseen, worked at a Washington-area postal facility that was a hub for sorting the capital's mail. Kathy Nguyen, 61, who had emigrated from Vietnam and lived in the Bronx, worked in a stock room at Manhattan Eye Ear & Throat Hospital, a Children's Hearing Institute.

The last to die was Ottilie Lundgren, 94, who lived in Oxford, Conn. Her death underscored how random the attacks were, reaching an elderly woman in an isolated town. Lundgren had lived through the tumultuous 20th century, through world wars and the Great Depression, only to lose her life at the start of a new century marked by a very different kind of threat.

Suddenly pews in her church were being checked for anthrax spores. Friends were tested and put on antibiotics.

"I often wondered what was going, and why there were no answers," said Margaret Crowther, a caretaker for Lundgren. "I just hope they find the real answers and settle this once and for all."

Lundgren was known as a well-read and active woman, involved with family, friends and community. Earlier in her life, she had a career as a legal secretary. Family friend Thomas Condon said the memory of the attack still hurts. "I don't think it ever really left the scene here, not completely," he said. "It always stays in your memory."

Ivins wasn't always the main suspect in the anthrax investigation. Steven Hatfill, a former researcher at For Detrick's Infectious Disease Institute, was labeled by then Attorney General John Ashcroft, a person of interest back in 2002. Hatfill, though, claimed his innocence from the start.

Some say part of the problem was Hatfill's tendency to exaggerate the truth. According to Hatfill's own lawyer and former spokesperson several things he claimed were simply not true. "Look Dr. Hatfill may have told some tall tales at some time in his life, but that doesn't make him the anthrax killer," said Pat Clawson, Hatfill's former spokesperson.

Hatfill, at one time, told colleagues he had gotten through White House security with fake biological matter. He also told a friend he could get biological weapons past Capitol security by posing in a wheelchair or military uniform.

At the time, ABC 7 led the FBI to an unpublished novel of Hatfill's that envisioned a deadly biological attack on Congress and the public. "I think what happened in this case was that the government overreacted," said Clawson. "They took things seriously that were never meant to be serious."

Now after more than six years of being under the microscope, and having his foot ran over by FBI agents, the formerly labeled person of interest was awarded a judgment of more than $5.8 million from the justice department. Hatfill's former spokesperson, Pat Clawson, though, questions whether newly named suspect Bruce Ivins may be "the latest piece of FBI roadkill in a botched investigation."