This article is from the source 'nytimes' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.

You can find the current article at its original source at http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/21/us/relief-in-boston-suburb-watertown-after-night-of-terror.html

The article has changed 4 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.

Version 1 Version 2
After Night of Terror in Boston Suburb, a Dawn of Doughnuts and Relief After Night of Terror in Boston Suburb, a Dawn of Doughnuts and Relief
(about 2 hours later)
WATERTOWN, Mass. — All of Boston rode a roller coaster of emotions last week, from horror at the bloody bombing during its annual marathon to a grim wait under lockdown to pure elation once the capture of the second bombing suspect was announced. WATERTOWN, Mass. — All of Boston rode a roller coaster of emotions last week, from horror at the bloody bombings during the annual marathon to a grim wait under lockdown while the suspects were pursued to pure euphoria once the second suspect was captured in a parked boat.
And then, suddenly, life seemed to snap back to the everyday. And by Saturday, suddenly, life had almost snapped back into place. Pedestrians and traffic reclaimed the streets of Watertown.
On Saturday morning, pedestrians and traffic had reclaimed the streets of Watertown, aside from the one block of Franklin Street where the second suspect, Dzhokhar A. Tsarnaev, was found hiding the night before in a driveway in a boat that had been covered for the winter. Neighbors here have been greeting one another with a quick question about how they are and then a sigh of relief. Dunkin’ Donuts was open and Mardy Kozelian, 49, a building inspector, brought in his children. Like everyone else, he was relieved to be able to go outside. He was also relieved that SWAT teams were no longer barging into homes here and military Humvees no longer occupied the streets.
Mardy Kozelian, 49, a building inspector who lives in Watertown, was out with his two children on Saturday and, like everyone else, was relieved that SWAT teams were no longer swarming homes and military Humvees no longer occupying their streets.
“Last night, a lot of people wished they had a gun in their house,” Mr. Kozelian said. “It’s crazy that in 12 hours, it’s back to normal.”“Last night, a lot of people wished they had a gun in their house,” Mr. Kozelian said. “It’s crazy that in 12 hours, it’s back to normal.”
Others, he knows, are not so lucky: people who were injured or lost loved ones in the bombings or the ensuing shootings. “The rest of us think about how mad we are, or what we’ll wear or how to pay the bills,” he said. “But those people are changed forever.” But all around Watertown, the only subject was the surreal transformation of this quiet suburban town into a stage for the final act of a gruesome drama that had played out all week. People spent Saturday trying to make sense of it.
It was a very different scene just hours earlier, in a city that had been through a midnight firefight, an exploding bomb and a second gunfight. Mike Doucette, 27, a chimney sweep, had witnessed one of the most unsettling moments of the whole week — when one brother was escaping the scene of a shootout and drove over his older brother, who had been mortally wounded. The brothers were identified as Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, 19, who is now hospitalized, and Tamerlan Tsarnaev, 26, who died after the shootout.
Chief Edward Deveau of the Watertown police, during a CNN interview in which he laid out the violent details of the previous day, said, “How the Watertown police are not attending a funeral of our own based on what happened on that street over that period of time is just talent, guts and glory.” Mr. Doucette said that the older brother was already lying in the street after the shootout and the younger one was speeding away from the scene when the undercarriage of the car caught the older brother. He said the car dragged the older brother about 30 feet, right in front of Mr. Doucette’s house, where a dark streak remains in the street. When the younger brother bumped into a police cruiser, the body was dislodged, Mr. Doucette said.
The break in the case came after the police, who had been searching the neighborhood but had not turned up the suspect, told residents that it was safe to return to the streets. That was when David Henneberry saw that the tight wrapping on his boat had been disturbed — and that there was blood. He lifted the white plastic cover and saw Mr. Tsarnaev huddled inside; he ran back into his home and called the police, who swarmed in. The scene had become a tourist site by Saturday, with people taking pictures, not only of the bloodstained street but where fragments of shrapnel had lodged in the siding of several houses.
Because the lockdown had been lifted, many other residents with cabin fever had ventured out as well. Sean Finn bolted from his house, telling his wife, DeAnna: “We need milk. I need cigarettes.” Franklin Street, where the younger brother was captured on Friday hiding in a boat, remained blocked off on Saturday. But it quickly became a destination for curious neighbors and camera crews. David Henneberry, the owner of the boat, was not available for interviews, but neighbors said he was retired and very fond of the boat, which he used for fishing.
While Mr. Finn left, Ms. Finn strolled onto the porch of her caramel, two-story clapboard to talk to a state trooper, and then back inside and out the back door to chat with a neighbor. Almost immediately, police officers started yelling at her: “Back in the house! Back in the house!” As people milled around the street, very few said they were concerned that no one had read Mr. Tsarnaev his Miranda rights. Perhaps the most adamant was DeAnna Finn, who lives a few houses from where the suspect was captured. “Civil rights?” she asked rhetorically. “When you do something like this, you just signed a contract giving away your rights.”
Moments later came ear-piercing gunfire. She declared: “An eye for an eye. Stick him in a cell with a pressure cooker,” a reference to the crude devices the suspects are believed to have used to set off explosions at the marathon, which killed three people on Monday and injured more than 170 others.
“Pow, pow, pow, pow, pow,” she recalled. “It had to be 30.” One resident who disagreed on this topic was Pamela Rosenstein, 44, who is a project director at “NOVA” for WGBH-TV, a public broadcaster in Boston. “They have to proceed as carefully within the judicial system as they did in capturing him,” she said.
She grabbed her 9-year-old son, Sean, by the arm and pulled him into the bathroom. They lay flat on the floor, and Ms. Finn eventually put her body over his. She flushed the toilet a couple of times to drown out the gunfire, and said it had been “very, very scary.” Other neighbors were amazed at the plethora of bullet holes around town, in the walls of people’s houses, in trees and in stop signs.
After about five minutes, she talked on her cellphone with a cousin, who told her to turn in the TV. So Ms. Finn crawled into the living room — and noticed that her neighbors who lived two houses down from where the suspect was holed up were sitting on her porch. “Houses are full of bullet holes,” said Laura Buch, a musicologist in Watertown, “and it’s miraculous that none of the people inside are full of bullet holes.”
The neighbors were Dumitru and Olga Ciuc. They lived just two doors down from the Henneberrys, and a police officer had come to their house to tell them to get out. At the same time, investigators from the F.B.I. were interviewing neighbors and retracing the path that Mr. Tsarnaev took during his rampage through town. Investigators in white hazardous-materials suits were taking pictures on Saturday of the boat, from which the white shrink wrap had been removed, revealing that the boat’s windshield had been broken.
“Let me take my dog,” Ms. Ciuc said she had told the officer, thinking of her black-and-white boxer, Nina. “Now we’re back to being the most boring street in the country,” said Stacy Rolfe, 30, a catering manager, who said that as the second suspect fled through town in the wee hours of Friday, he ran right past her front door.
“O.K., take your dog,” the officer responded. Dumitru and Olga Ciuc lived just a couple of doors down from where the boat was parked and on Friday night, a police officer ordered them out, although he let them take their dog.
They made their way to the Finn home, dropping to the ground and crouching behind cars at the sound of gunfire. Ms. Finn invited them in, and together they rode out the screaming commands of the police and the bellow of flash grenades. When the Ciucs, who immigrated to the United States from Romania, were allowed to return later that night to the house they have lived in for more than 20 years, they found the ransacked remnants of a SWAT command center. Officers had taken positions in second-floor rooms of their home that overlooked the 20-foot boat. Dressers were shifted about, and blinds and windows were removed. In a room that their granddaughter uses, a flower-patterned comforter had been thrown about, and a Dora the Explorer music book and large stuffed dog were splayed on the bed, under a pile of windows and blinds.
When it appeared that things were safe, Ms. Finn peeked out into her porch and asked a police officer if they had gotten their man.
“Almost,” he said.
Moments later, she asked another passing officer, “Are we happy police?”
The officer gave her a thumbs up.
When the Ciucs, who immigrated to the United States from Romania, were allowed to return to the house they have lived in for more than 20 years, they found the ransacked remnants of a SWAT command center. Officers had taken positions in second-floor rooms of their home that overlooked the 20-foot boat. Dressers were shifted about, and blinds and windows were removed. In a room that their granddaughter uses, a flower-patterned comforter had been thrown about, and a Dora the Explorer music book and large stuffed dog were splayed on the bed, under a pile of windows and blinds.
Mr. Ciuc picked up a window panel from the bed to reinstall it into what was now a gap in his wall where a stiff wind blew through, whipping up shiny, silver curtains. He smirked.Mr. Ciuc picked up a window panel from the bed to reinstall it into what was now a gap in his wall where a stiff wind blew through, whipping up shiny, silver curtains. He smirked.
“Oh, my God,” he said. “I love the F.B.I.”“Oh, my God,” he said. “I love the F.B.I.”
On Saturday morning, Sunny McDonough, 34, a hairstylist and accountant who lives in Watertown, brought her 3-year-old daughter to Dunkin’ Donuts for a treat after having been cooped up for so long.On Saturday morning, Sunny McDonough, 34, a hairstylist and accountant who lives in Watertown, brought her 3-year-old daughter to Dunkin’ Donuts for a treat after having been cooped up for so long.
Ms. McDonough said she expected the ordeal to bring more people to Watertown. “Now we’re on the map,” she said. “And I think our property values are going to go up by 10 percent. Everyone knows where we are now, and they might be more inclined to visit and go to the diner and the stores.Ms. McDonough said she expected the ordeal to bring more people to Watertown. “Now we’re on the map,” she said. “And I think our property values are going to go up by 10 percent. Everyone knows where we are now, and they might be more inclined to visit and go to the diner and the stores.
“We’re really a safe, suburban community,” she said — and then caught herself and smiled. “Except for the terrorist hiding in the boat.”“We’re really a safe, suburban community,” she said — and then caught herself and smiled. “Except for the terrorist hiding in the boat.”

Katharine Q. Seelye reported from Watertown, Mass., and John Schwartz from New York. John Eligon and Jess Bidgood contributed reporting from Boston.

Katharine Q. Seelye reported from Watertown, Mass., and John Schwartz from New York. John Eligon contributed reporting from Watertown.