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The tall, lean man in shorts and T-shirt who came into the Subway sandwich shop in Baltimore's Remington neighborhood appeared polite and well-spoken. It was late on the evening of Oct. 7, and the stranger said he was hungry and tired.
But the store, at 28th and Sisson streets, was closing, and workers Marty Ruby, 25, and Holly Thompson, 21, nicely told him they were no longer serving customers. So the man, who walked with military bearing, nodded respectfully and headed back to his car parked in the lot.
Moments later, as the pair were bringing out the day's trash, the stranger came out of his blue Chevrolet Caprice and approached them again.
"He smiled and said, 'I hope I didn't scare you,'" said Ruby. "He was as pleasant and as nice as he could be."
That man, investigators say, was John Allen Muhammad, 41, the Persian Gulf war veteran suspected in a killing rampage that terrorized millions of people around the nation's capital.
From the first moments when a sniper began firing on his victims in the Washington suburbs, authorities scrambled to find the killer's comfort zone - a home or office where he retreated after his attacks.
But now authorities suspect the sniper and his accomplice did little more than live an indigent life between the shootings, in which a gunman lay in wait for someone to cross his path.
The incident in Baltimore gives a rare glimpse into the lifestyle that police believe Muhammad and his companion, Lee Boyd Malvo, led on the road: sleeping in cars, eating fast food on the run, checking into cheap motel rooms, and circulating anonymously through back streets, gas station parking lots and rest areas.
It was about 9 p.m. on a Monday when Thompson and Ruby encountered the man - "nice and proper," Thompson said.
The man they identified yesterday as Muhammad told the women he was from out of town, planning to drive all night and just wanted to rest in his car. He asked whether they would mind. He stood barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, outside a car Thompson described as cluttered, as if he was living in it.
By chance, he had chosen a sandwich shop next to the Donut Connection, just off the Jones Falls Expressway - a few blocks from the offices of the city police warrant apprehension task force.
Thompson recalled a laptop computer, its screen glowing blue, on the car passenger seat. She also remembered the New Jersey plate. Neither saw any sign of a traveling companion.
"You could tell he wasn't from Baltimore," Thompson said. "His vocals didn't have an accent or tone."
That morning, the sniper who had been haunting Maryland and Virginia had shot and nearly killed a 13-year-old middle school student in Bowie.
The Subway closed. Muhammad stayed.
Just after midnight, he walked across the parking lot to a Mobil gas station and asked the cashier, Holly Holmes, 18, whether hot food was available there. After she said no, he walked over to the nearby 7-Eleven. When he returned, Holmes remembered, he bought from Holmes some chips, a brownie and a Coke.
"I thought he was a regular customer," Holmes said.
They exchanged good nights.
About a half-hour later, Baltimore Police Officer James Snyder, who works the midnight shift at the Northern District, drove by on his regular rounds. As usual, he waved to Holly Holmes, who waved back - their nightly signal that all is well. But police say Snyder noted the blue Caprice.
But the store, at 28th and Sisson streets, was closing, and workers Marty Ruby, 25, and Holly Thompson, 21, nicely told him they were no longer serving customers. So the man, who walked with military bearing, nodded respectfully and headed back to his car parked in the lot.
"He smiled and said, 'I hope I didn't scare you,'" said Ruby. "He was as pleasant and as nice as he could be."
That man, investigators say, was John Allen Muhammad, 41, the Persian Gulf war veteran suspected in a killing rampage that terrorized millions of people around the nation's capital.
From the first moments when a sniper began firing on his victims in the Washington suburbs, authorities scrambled to find the killer's comfort zone - a home or office where he retreated after his attacks.
But now authorities suspect the sniper and his accomplice did little more than live an indigent life between the shootings, in which a gunman lay in wait for someone to cross his path.
The incident in Baltimore gives a rare glimpse into the lifestyle that police believe Muhammad and his companion, Lee Boyd Malvo, led on the road: sleeping in cars, eating fast food on the run, checking into cheap motel rooms, and circulating anonymously through back streets, gas station parking lots and rest areas.
It was about 9 p.m. on a Monday when Thompson and Ruby encountered the man - "nice and proper," Thompson said.
The man they identified yesterday as Muhammad told the women he was from out of town, planning to drive all night and just wanted to rest in his car. He asked whether they would mind. He stood barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, outside a car Thompson described as cluttered, as if he was living in it.
By chance, he had chosen a sandwich shop next to the Donut Connection, just off the Jones Falls Expressway - a few blocks from the offices of the city police warrant apprehension task force.
Thompson recalled a laptop computer, its screen glowing blue, on the car passenger seat. She also remembered the New Jersey plate. Neither saw any sign of a traveling companion.
"You could tell he wasn't from Baltimore," Thompson said. "His vocals didn't have an accent or tone."
That morning, the sniper who had been haunting Maryland and Virginia had shot and nearly killed a 13-year-old middle school student in Bowie.
The Subway closed. Muhammad stayed.
Just after midnight, he walked across the parking lot to a Mobil gas station and asked the cashier, Holly Holmes, 18, whether hot food was available there. After she said no, he walked over to the nearby 7-Eleven. When he returned, Holmes remembered, he bought from Holmes some chips, a brownie and a Coke.
"I thought he was a regular customer," Holmes said.
They exchanged good nights.
About a half-hour later, Baltimore Police Officer James Snyder, who works the midnight shift at the Northern District, drove by on his regular rounds. As usual, he waved to Holly Holmes, who waved back - their nightly signal that all is well. But police say Snyder noted the blue Caprice.
