America's new terror: 'Just look around. The sniper could be watching us now'

In just a few days, a random killer has cleared Washington's streets. He seems unstoppable. Andrew Buncombe follows the trail of an urban nightmare

Rain was falling in floods as Warren Shifflet explained how he had cleaned the taxi driver's blood from the garage forecourt. "I had to wash it with a power-washer. The hose was not strong enough," said the garage attendant. "And the smell... I served in Vietnam and though I didn't see lots of blood and gore, I saw enough. The smell was the same."

The taxi-driver's name was Premkumar Walekar. He was 54, and it was his habit to fill up his vehicle at the Mobil station on the corner of Connecticut Avenue and Aspen Hill Road in Montgomery County, north of Washington, at the same time every day. And so it was on the morning of Thursday 3 October, when he pulled up next to pump number nine and unscrewed his fuel cap. "I was inside answering the phone when I heard a bang," said Mr Shifflet. "I came out and he was lying on the floor. His eyes were rolled back in his head. His mouth was open."

Mr Walekar was victim number three of the gunman who has become known as the Beltway Sniper, named after the traffic-jammed highway that encircles Washington, and who has terrorised the residents of the nation's capital, the suburbs and commuter towns across an entire region.

Since Indian-born Mr Walekar – a family man who dreamt of retiring to the subcontinent – was killed, the sniper has struck at least seven times, killing five more people. As with the anthrax scare that tormented Washington this time last year, many people here are gripped by something approaching panic. There are signs of a siege mentality setting in.

"It's not much fun at the moment. You can't do anything," said a woman, buying coffee at a café close to the garage. "The children can't go out. You are always looking over your shoulder."

The reason for this is simple: the sniper, it has become clear, can strike anywhere and anyone. He shoots schoolchildren, elderly people, blacks, whites, Asians and Hispanics. He strikes outside schools, outside petrol stations owned by different companies. He shoots people vacuuming their cars, he shoots taxi drivers as they fill up their tanks. He may be fuelled by hatred but it is a hatred he aims at everyone. And he does so from close up – perhaps from only 100 yards away – and with just one .223 bullet. "Just look around," said Mr Shifflet, pointing to the various roof-tops surrounding the petrol station. "He could be watching us now." Across the road stood the Giant supermarket, whose roof had been scoured by police looking for clues. A 71-year-old woman was standing with her shopping trolley, waiting for a lift home. "I do feel very jumpy," she said. "It has changed everything. You simply don't feel safe on the streets. I am just waiting for them to catch him."

As she talked on Friday a report on the local radio station made it all too clear the sniper was still at large. Just an hour earlier, the radio said, a 53-year-old man had been shot in Fredericksburg, northern Virginia. Police could not yet say whether it was the work of the sniper but the circumstances seemed to fit. By lunchtime he would be pronounced dead.

It took two hours to drive the short distance to Fredericksburg. The Beltway was grid-locked more than ever and the radio explained why: hundreds of police were engaged in a massive hunt for a white van with a ladder rack seen racing from the scene of the shooting, and were stopping any van that appeared to fit the description. Officers pulled over one such van heading in the opposite direction and lined up its occupants, automatic weapons drawn. It turned out to be nothing.

At Fredericksburg there was more evidence of the panic. As police scurried around the Exxon forecourt, the victim's grey car stood next to the fuel pumps, its door still open. Just 100 yards away a handful of local residents had gathered.

"I am just worried about my eight-year-old daughter," said Debbie McDonald, whose child's school was in a state of security lock-down on Friday, like all the others in the region. All school sports activities planned for this weekend have been cancelled. "They say he is shooting people at gas stations. I did not want to get gas this morning. You don't know where is going to be next."

As this drama plays out people speculate as to who is behind the killings. A man, surely? Ex-military, a hunter, a coward, a loser, "a f****d-up white guy with issues"? Of course, no one knows, but everyone guesses.

And people do what they can to protect themselves. Friends say they try to fuel their cars during the middle of the day (with one exception, the sniper has so far only struck in the morning and the evening) and food delivery orders are up.

And yet people prefer to ignore what looks to an outsider like one of the most obvious issues. Let us not forget how easy it is to buy a gun here. You can buy one over the counter as supermarkets such as KMart and Wal-Mart. It's your constitutional right. If you buy one at a gun-show you don't even need a security check. I asked the police officer heading the sniper investigation, Chief Charles Moose, whether or not tighter gun control would help prevent incidents such as this. "Oh," he said, sounding a little weary. "I wouldn't wish to speculate."

Ten days of fear in Montgomery County: the diary of an ordinary, frightened family

Liverpool-born David Mendick, a 41-year-old housing manager, has lived in Montgomery County, Maryland, for more than a decade with his American wife, Naomi, and their three children. This is his account of their experience.

Thursday, 3 October

Traffic terrible – must be an accident somewhere. I switch from my sports talk radio station to 1500WTOP news, only to learn I am living in a nightmare. Montgomery County is a crime scene: six people have been killed in the past 16 hours, all within a five-mile radius of where I live, the closest just a mile away.

Friday

Wake up to the sound of a helicopter overhead, which means the sniper is still out there. Kids no longer walk to the corner to wait for the school bus; they are either driven to school by a parent or they don't go at all. The sniper strikes again, killing yet another person in the surrounding area.

Saturday

Take my kids to the indoor pool – because it's indoors.

Sunday

Take my 11-year-old twins to soccer practice. Not enough kids turn up for them to have a real game. My seven-year-old daughter dislikes the inconveniences, such as no after-school activities, but doesn't particularly understand the fear. My 11-year-old son is totally afraid. The last thing he says at night is, "I hope they catch the bad guy, Dad", and the first thing he says in the morning, as if the conversation had never ended, is, "Did they catch the bad guy, Dad?"

Naomi is scared. Scared to go to the supermarket (the first victim), scared to get petrol (the second victim), scared to go to the post office (the third victim) – scared to do any of the things everyday people do every day.

Monday

A 13-year-old boy is shot in the chest, his aunt holding his hand, as she walks him into school.

Tuesday

No shootings today, until I turn on the 10pm news. Another sniper killing, this time in Virginia.

Wednesday

Again I am woken up by the sound of a helicopter overhead. In the first few miles of my commute to work, I now pass three murder scenes. Flowers cover the bench where the Hispanic lady was shot outside the post office – the florist is next door.

Thursday

No shootings today but lots of press conferences from all the different police jurisdictions. What they all have in common is that they seem to be taunting the sniper, calling him a coward – almost daring him to strike again.

Friday

The taunting works: a man is killed in Virginia while filling up. All the main roads are blocked as they search for a white van, but there are white vans everywhere.

My wife calls me. She has an article to write for a community magazine, and today is the deadline. But she couldn't do it: she broke down crying. She wants me to get blinds for the basement for when the kids are down there.

There's a sniper on the loose. As I drive around I pray that I see some monster in a white van. I'll call the police on my cellphone, they'll catch the monster, the fear will be over and life will go back to normal.

Saturday

My mother calls me from Manchester, my two brothers from London, and like a true Englishman I joke about the whole thing. But in truth this is not a great time to be in Montgomery County, Maryland.