It is the middle of May 2008, just outside of Pearisburg, Virginia, where a wild-land known as Dismal Creek sits along the edge of the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest and draws visitors from all across Southwestern Virginia. Despite its name, Dismal Creek and the lush forests that surround it are stunningly beautiful. Wild turkeys and ruffed grouse roam the area, and steep, layered rocks guide the runoff from nearby Flat Top Mountain into thin, shimmering waterfalls. These waterfalls drain into pools and streams that are filled to the brim with large, lively rainbow trout that are just waiting to be caught by an adept fisherman—and that is exactly what Scott Johnson is there to do.
Standing on the bank in his fishing attire, Scott checks his line, readies his stance, and watches as his lure flies through the air and lands in the water with a soft splash. He clears his mind and lets the world around him fade away as he watches for signs of movement. Before long, he feels a tug at the line and soon has claimed another prize.
Fishing had been good that day and when Scott goes to place his latest catch into the cooler, he counts six plump trout ready for the fire. Satisfied, he loads his fishing gear into the bed of his truck and set off toward the mountaintop.
As he drives along the narrow, winding road, Scott notices a dog standing beside the creek and slows his truck to take a closer look. The dog has a collar around its neck, but that is not the first thing that draws Scott’s eye. Instead, he immediately notices the dog’s anemic white gums and sickly, swollen belly. As a woodman, he knows that these are obvious signs of malnourishment.
Scott shifts his truck into park and steps out to take a closer look. As he does, a man appears from the creek bed below. He is so gaunt that his sharp cheekbones look like they might rip through the paper-thin skin on his face. His pants and reflective hunting jacket sag around his withered body. His mouth hangs lazily open as he stares back silently. Scott asks the man assistance, but his question is never answered. Instead, the man complains that the fish “just aren’t biting today.”
Scott takes a sympathetic look at him, remembers the cooler filled with fish and wonders for a moment if his good fortune that day had been a sign. Perhaps, someone above had known exactly who he was about to meet and had intended for him to share with the starving man.
He lets down the tailgate of his truck, lifts the lid of his cooler, and presents its contents to the man. He then loads two fish into a bag and hands it to him.
“Here, you can have these,” Scott says.
The man graciously accepts and unloads the fish into his own empty cooler. He then introduces himself as Ricky Williams. Scott asks if he is related to the Ricky Williams, the American football player, but Ricky denies it and just laughs awkwardly.
For a few minutes, two share fishing techniques and talk about their favorite sports teams, but the conversation never goes any deeper than that. Overall, Scott finds Ricky to be a bit odd but attributes his strange speech pattern and jerky behavior to simple hunger and chooses to ignore it.
After the slightly awkward conversation, he wishes Ricky the best of luck, gives his dog a pat on the head, and climbs back into his truck. He starts the engine and continues his journey up the mountain.
Several hours later, after spending the remainder of the afternoon enjoying nature, Scott arrives at his destination where Sean Farmer, his camping partner and lifelong friend, is putting the finishing touches on their campsite. As he steps out of his truck, Scott notices the same man, Ricky Williams, sitting beside the campfire and speaking jovially with his friend.
He learns from Sean that after seeing Ricky by the creek several hours earlier, the man had approached Sean and informed him that he and Scott were friends and that they had been fishing together. Sean, who, like Scott, had also been concerned by the man’s appearance, invited him to stay for dinner and Ricky had graciously accepted.
As the night progresses and Ricky becomes more comfortable around Scott and Sean, he begins telling incredible stories about his time at Virginia Tech where he had graduated Valedictorian and how, more recently, he had authored several papers for NASA’s research and development team. He then brags to them about his many romantic partners and watches closely for their reactions.
The more the man talks, the more grandiose and unbelievable his stories become. Every new detail seems less like a recounting of his own life and more like a fantasy that he is crafting on the spot, desperately hoping to impress his new friends. Scott and Sean periodically exchange skeptical glances at one another, but they never question him.
After the fish are cooked, the three men eat hungrily. Ricky scarfs his food so quickly that he is already going in for seconds around the time Scott is taking his first bite. Scott looks down to the whimpering dog beside him and holds out a piece of fish in his hand. The dog swallows it eagerly, and then two more.
Over the next three hours, Ricky continues to tell his tall-tales and, as the sun begins to set, Scott and Sean look to one another. They wonder why the strange man hasn’t yet left. Surely, they think, he must be worried about traveling alone after dark. Bears, cougars, snakes and other dangerous wildlife roam the area and once the sun goes down, he would basically be walking blind.
As if on cue, Ricky stands up and calls to his dog, “Come on, boy. Time to go. We need to let these men rest. It’s been a long day.”
Ricky thanks the men for their hospitality and, just as Sean is about to offer him some more food for the road, a loud bang halts the words in his throat.
Scott looks up and see Ricky’s arm outstretched toward his friend. Blood erupts from a hole in Sean’s face, and he watches as Ricky turns to face him. Now, he sees it, a small gun—barely larger than the man’s palm—pointed directly at him.
The Appalachian Trail
Dismal creek is a beautiful little spot, and while most who end up traveling through the area do so because of the nearby Appalachian trail. As the longest footpath existing in the world today, the trail stretches over two-thousand miles from its start in Georgia, through 14 states, until finally terminating at the peak of Mount Katahdin in Maine. The trail attracts everyone from cyclists and fishermen to paddlers and sightseers; although, the things that draws more visitors than all of them combined is hiking.
About a decade ago, the author hiked a small portion of the trail in Northern Georgia and it was one of the most beautiful and peaceful experiences of his life. America’s numerous national forests are one thing that every American can truly take unfettered pride in. With countless access points peppering the entire trail, you can easily gain access to a segment that is either as easy or difficult as your skill requires.
Now, that recommendation may seem ill-timed. After all, there are few things as terrifying as being trapped alone in the woods with a gun-wielding Psychopath; however, consider these statistics:
Despite receiving over three million visitors-per-year, there is only an average of about 1 homicide every 4 years. That puts your odds of dying on the trail at the hands of a murderer at about .0003%. That means that, statistically, you are far more likely to be killed while doing something innocuous in your own home like preparing dinner, or relaxing on the couch.
So, with that information in mind, would it surprise you to learn that just 27 years earlier, a double homicide was committed within a single mile of the exact location where Scott Johnston and Sean Farmer made camp?
The Disappearance
For most people who visit The Appalachian Trail, a simple weekend trip is all they could ever want; however, there are some who seek to push their bodies and minds to the absolute limit by thru-hiking the trial’s entire 2000-mile length in a single year. These extremely motivated and rugged individuals spend years preparing to face everything from the physical challenges of walking 15-20 miles-per-day through difficult terrain and erratic weather, to the mental challenges that come from their mind’s desire to give up.
In the spring of 1981, Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford set out from the trail’s start in Fannin County, Georgia with the goal of completing the trial in just 7 short months. The pair were social workers from Maine who were using their journey as a means to raise money for disabled children.
By early May, they crossed into Virginia, and with Georgia, North Carolina and Tennessee behind them, they were right on schedule and making excellent progress.
As is common among the hiking community, Susan and Robert had even managed to make several new friends along the way. One of them was a female hiker who was also thru-hiking the trail. After meeting, the three of them traveled together for several days. During this time, Susan and Robert told the woman all about the motivation behind their journey.
They told her about the many preparations they had made and stressed to her that nothing short of the apocalypse itself could stop them from completing their journey. Later on, the woman decided to push ahead at a quicker pace, but the three of them agreed to regroup just outside Pearisburg, Virginia in the following days to resupply and rest before continuing on. The woman arrived on schedule, but Susan and Robert never would.
At first, the woman assumed that they had been delayed and would arrive the following day; however, as the next day came and went, she became increasingly concerned for the pair’s safety. She had not forgotten how Robert had stressed the importance their journey and knew that something must have gone terribly wrong. She phoned the state police for help.
The desk on which Susan and Robert’s file would eventually land was that of Deputy Sheriff Tom Lawson of the Giles County Sheriff’s Office. He had been handed the case by the Virginia State Police along with a description of the hikers and their last known location.
Lawson began his investigation into the missing hikers the same way that he began every investigation into missing tourists: by calling their parents. Now, this may seem like a strange thing to do considering the pair were grown adults; however, Lawson knew that in the vast majority of missing persons cases—particularly those that involved hikers attempting their first thru-hike—many who were presumed missing were actually safe at home after becoming overwhelmed by the journeys many unexpected challenges. He also knew that when people fail at something, the first person they usually contact is their parents or a loved one for support.
To accomplish this, Lawson searched the trail’s voluntary registration forms to find the necessary contact information. After retrieving it, he made several calls, but unfortunately, neither family had heard from either of them.
During the call with Robert’s father, Robert Mountford Sr., Deputy Lawson was urged to take the case seriously. “Bobby is too good of a woodsman to get lost,” Robert’s father added. Lawson assured the man that he would do everything in his power to locate his son, and he requested a recent photo of Robert to aid in the search.
While it was certainly not uncommon for hikers to go missing along the Appalachian Trail, the section of the trail that stretched alongside Pearisburg was extremely well marked, and as a result, most people did not have trouble following it. Because of the elder Mountford’s comments about his son’s hiking abilities, this case immediately stuck out in Lawson’s mind as something to be concerned about.
The following morning, he arrived at the trail and began speaking with campers to see if anyone else may have encountered the couple. One man said that he had briefly spoken with them outside of a hiking shelter called Wapiti and noted that they were in good health. He asked the man which direction they were headed, but he was unsure.
To get an idea of their whereabouts and recent movements, Lawson traveled north in search of one of the trail’s registers. The registers—sometimes referred to as logbooks or guestbooks—are large books that are located on The Appalachian Trial at shelters, campsites and some trail-ends. They are used by hikers to document their journey and leave encouraging messages to those that come behind them. Police often turn to them to establish a timeline and narrow down their search when someone goes missing; however, when Lawson arrived at the location of one of the registers, he found that it was missing.
Still determined to find them, Lawson visited a nearby shop called Trent’s. When thru-hiking the trail, it is necessary to limit the number of supplies that you carry with you in order to avoid over-encumbering yourself. Because of this, frequent resupplies are necessary and locations like Trent’s do well because of their close proximity to the trail.
When Lawson arrived, he approached the cashier and asked him for information. To his surprise, the cashier had actually had seen them. He told Lawson that Susan and Robert had visited for a resupply several days earlier, but he did not know where they intended to go next. Lawson then took statements from several other store employees who also claimed to have seen them that day.
Just as was the case with the owner, none of them knew where the two planned to travel next. This was becoming a common theme. The pair were seen somewhere by someone, and then, suddenly, they vanished.
It was at this time that someone spoke up and said that an odd-looking man had visited the store earlier in the week claiming to know what had happened to the lost hikers.
Lawson’s interest was piqued; he asked for the man’s name.
“Lyin’ Randal,” the person replied.
The Deputy scoffed, “Sounds like a real nutcase.”
At this point in the investigation, there was still no evidence that a crime had been committed. After all, in a time before cellphones, it was extremely common for people hiking the trail to disappear for a few days before eventually turning up several days later further on down the trail. Or, for all he knew, the two could have simply grown tired of their journey and decided to hole up in a hotel room for a couple days without telling anyone. It certainly wouldn’t have been the first time that was the case.
Add to it the fact that the name Deputy Lawson had been given was literally preceded by the word Lying, and it’s difficult to blame him for not dropping everything to chase down this unlikely lead.
By now, word was really beginning to spread about the missing hikers. Several people offered up what they knew; although, most didn’t know much. Several more people claimed to have seen them at one point or another, but nobody could provide a solid lead.
Finally, on May 30th, nearly two full weeks since Susan and Robert had last been seen, the deputy was reminded of a tip that he had received earlier in the case. One of the first people he had ever spoken to had mentioned seeing the pair near Wapiti Shelter. To follow up on it, Lawson and a group of investigators traveled up the trail to the shelter.
When they arrived, their hearts immediately sank. The first thing that Deputy Lawson noticed was the floor of the shelter. Wapiti, like many rest points that sat along the trail, was a rustic wooden structure that provided hikers with a dry place to sleep during nights of bad weather.
This particular shelter was fairly new and all of its lumber should have been uniform in color, however, the floorboards were an entirely different shade than the test of the structure. While the walls and roof were a natural, unstained color, the floor was almost dark enough to be considered black, as if someone had intentionally stained it.
Lawson crouched and pulled out his pocket knife. He stuck the tip of the blade into the gap between two of the floorboards and scraped out a mixture of mud, leaves and what appeared to be dried blood. He then ordered that the floorboards be removed, and moments later, an officer arrived with a crowbar.
As soon as the first board came up, Lawson shined his flashlight into the darkness below revealing a large pool of reddish-brown, dried blood. Investigators immediately knew that they were standing on a crime-scene. While there were no bodies to be found underneath the shelter, the sheer amount of blood confirmed that whoever had been injured here, was likely no longer alive.
The Discovery
Now certain that a crime had been committed and fearing the worst, Lawson made a call. Within an hour, a team of investigators arrived and began processing the crime scene. With no body to be found, Lawson ordered his men to fan out and search the area immediately surrounding Wapiti shelter.
After a very brief search, one of the officers stumbled across a pile of leaves that appeared to be covering something. As the group carefully brushed them aside, the top of a sleeping bag was revealed. Once they pulled open the front flap, they saw the upper body of a woman.
The body told a story that was like something straight out of slasher film. To spare the goriest details, the woman’s body had been punctured 13 separate times by a sharp object. When investigators turned the body over, they found that the back of her head was split open. After removing her from the sleeping bag, they found that her hands showed signs of defensive wounds. Buried with the body, investigators discovered what they assumed to be the murder weapons: a wrought iron fire-poker and a large spiked nail.
The following day, cadaver dogs were brought in to aid in the search. They combed the woods near where Susan’s body had been found and eventually signaled in the direction of a large stump. Investigators began digging in that area and very quickly discovered a second sleeping bag. Inside it, they found the body of Robert Mountford with three gunshot wounds—one in his head and two in his face.
Deputy Lawson and his men shut down the portion of the trail that ran through Giles County—something that was very controversial at the time—and began expanding their search. Spare clothing, canteens, food items, maps and journals all belonging to the victims were discovered scattered all around the forests surrounding Wapiti Shelter. They were buried under logs, hidden within downed trees, placed under rocks, covered in leaves, tossed in high grass. It was as if the killer had deliberately spread their belongings all across the area at random.
A camera was found, but to the disappointment of the investigators, the film had already been removed. Eventually, a backpack belonging to Susan was found that contained two paperback novels. Inside the cover of one of them: a bloody fingerprint.
A Suspect
Over the next three weeks, investigators continued to comb the area in search of clues. While much evidence had been found near Wapiti, the only solid lead they had was the bloody fingerprint, and their department had yet to find a match for it.
By this time, the trail had been closed for a full three weeks, and Deputy Lawson was being pressured to reopen it. Lawson said in 2009 with an interview with Dateline’s Chris Hansen that people as high up as the federal government were putting pressure on him to make a statement declaring that there was “no serial killer walking The Appalachian Trail.” Lawson was resistant to reopening the trail because he didn’t want to put more people at risk.
Finally, after weeks of work, there was a break in the case. The bloody fingerprint that was discovered inside Susan’s book came back as a match for an employee at a shipyard in Newport News, Virginia. As part of the hiring process, employees had to submit to fingerprinting and those specific prints belonged to a man named Randall Lee Smith.
Investigators began looking into Smith and quickly discovered that he was no longer employed at the shipyard. A records search revealed that after leaving his position, Smith had moved back home to live with his mother right there in Pearisburg. Later that same day, Deputy Lawson, along with a team of officers from the Giles County Sheriff’s office, arrived at the home of Randall Smith’s mother.
The home itself was a modest single-story residence with white siding and an empty gravel driveway. With their weapons at the ready, they cautiously approached and gave an authoritative knock on the wobbly screen-door. There was no answer. With a warrant in hand, the police broke down the door and entered. In the basement, they found a pile of blood-stained clothes soaking in water along with several items that belonged to Susan and Robert.
Upstairs, inside Smith’s bedroom, things began to get strange. On his desk, Deputy Lawson discovered a ransom note. While the full text of the note has not been made available online, the descriptions of it states that it was a hastily written note that alluded to the fact that Randall Smith had been framed for the murders of Susan and Robert. It said that the real killers had kidnapped Randall and were going to kill him next.
There were no demands on the note and no reason was given for its creation. It existed solely as an admission of guilt from some unknown third party. After a quick visual comparison between the ransom note and other handwritten notes that were scattered across the desk, Deputy Lawson concluded that the kidnapping note had been written by Smith himself with absolutely no attempt whatsoever to alter his own handwriting.
It’s at this point in the story that it should be mentioned that despite being known as Lyin’ Randall, Randall Smith was not very good at lying. He was actually very, very bad at it—comically bad.
Lawson continued his search of Smith’s bedroom and discovered a startlingly large amount of laminated pornography and homemade sex toys, many of which had been fashioned out of old medical instruments stolen from the county hospital.
After collecting those items with double-gloved hands, Lawson exited through the backdoor and observed the forested area that sat behind the Smith’s home. Deputy Lawson then realized that they were actually much closer to the crime scene than he had originally thought. If not for the trees and mountainous terrain, he believed that he would be able to see Wapiti Shelter from where he stood at that very moment. It could be no more than a mile away.
With no doubt left in his mind, Deputy Lawson put out an APB on Smith’s truck and began interviewing neighbors to get a clearer idea of who Randall Smith really was; however, this would prove to be more difficult than he imagined.
Lyin’ Randall
Randall Lee Smith was born on June 29th, 1953 to his mother, Loretta Smith, and a father whose name has not been made public. For whatever reason, Randall’s father abandoned him and Loretta when Randall was only six months old, and by the time he had turned one, his parent’s divorce had been finalized. Randall never saw his father again and his mother never received any child support or alimony that could have been used to help support either of them.
Now on their own, Loretta took a job as a custodian at Giles Memorial Hospital where she earned a meager paycheck. Her coworkers regarded her as “a nice lady with few ambitions. She made a living, and that’s about it.”
The Smith family of two had little and that was on purpose. For the first few years of Randall’s life, he and Loretta moved from home to home just barely making ends meet. The more they owned, the more they had to move, so they traveled lightly. They stayed with friends whenever possible and rented various places when Loretta had the money. When she did not, they slept in her vehicle.
One curious thing to note is that up until about the age of three, Loretta dressed Randall exclusively in traditionally feminine colors and dresses. While this wasn’t the most outlandish thing, as up until the early twentieth century most clothing for infants and young children was unisex, she was also known to frequently refer to Randall as her daughter. This was certainly not normal and the reason for it is not known. Neighbors noted that they felt it was a very odd thing to do and that young Randall was never quite comfortable with it.
Finally, after saving up enough money, Loretta purchased a home adjacent to her sister and brother-in-law. The two had a hand in raising Randall and often looked after him while his mother was at work. Seeing that Randall was a loner, his aunt encouraged the boy to go outside and make friends with the children that often played around their neighborhood; however, Randall simply wasn’t interested. He preferred to isolate himself inside their home and stay far away from anyone outside of their immediate family.
She would eventually tell police that Randall “stayed too much to himself” and that “for a child to not ever have a friend, that’s unusual.”
His uncle would eventually assume a fatherly role by taking Randall on camping trips into the woods behind their homes. It was during these trips that Randall developed a love for nature. Soon, most of his spare time was spent in the forests behind his mother’s home searching for arrowheads and collecting fossilized bone fragments.
The following year, when Randall finally started school, he was introduced to and forced to spend time with children his own age. Unsurprisingly, they found the young, woods-obsessed loner-child to be a bit peculiar, and Randall was treated like an outcast.
In an attempt to win them over, Randall told fascinating stories about his life. Some of these stories were borderline believable—like the fact that his father was a war hero who was killed in action—while others were outlandish—like claiming that his family were actually secret millionaires. When his classmates asked him why he didn’t live in a mansion, he told them that his mother simply did not want to spoil him. This was a common response, as when Randall was called out on his lies, he would often double down on them and become angry.
Before long, his lies were folding in on themselves; Randall was no longer able to keep track of his numerous stories. His tall tales quickly gained him a reputation as a liar, and he was given the unaffectionate nickname “L.R.” which stood for Lyin’ Randall.
Now, you might think that this nickname would have bothered someone who disliked being confronted about his lies, however, young Randall seemed to embrace it. It made him feel as if he were finally being accepted by those around him. When others teased him with the nickname, he would casually turn around with a smile and ask, “What can I do for you?”
When Randall entered high school, his potential friend group grew; however, he still struggled to connect with anyone. In an attempt to gain respect among his classmates, he continued to tell lies to anyone who would listen. He claimed to be a ladies’ man with multiple girlfriends whom he said attended different schools in surrounding counties; everyone just rolled their eyes at him. He bragged about attending parties even though those who were actually in attendance knew for sure that he was not.
By this time in his life, when Randall was inevitably caught in a lie, he simply shook his head and called those who questioned him fools. He desperately wanted to be anyone but himself, but he did not seem interested or able to change who he was. He wanted all of the glory and bragging rights afforded to someone who had accomplished great things, but he did not want to put in the effort required to achieve them.
Before graduating high-school, he dropped out classes in the eleventh grade and left home to become a welder in Newport News, Virginia. Unfortunately, his unreliable nature made it impossible for him to maintain steady employment; he was quickly fired. After this, Randall returned home and began working odd jobs around town wherever they were available.
One of the people that Randall frequently worked for was a man named John Spauer. While between jobs, Spauer allowed Randall to earn extra money by working on cars and trucks in his garage. He knew about Randall’s reputation but took pity on him by allowing him to come and go as he pleased without asking too many questions. Sometimes, Randall would show up as scheduled for several weeks in row, only to suddenly drop off the face of the earth for a month or more.
When he finally returned, he would do so with grandiose and overly-detailed explanations about what had happened to him. They were completely unbelievable; however, Spauer still rarely questioned them. Spauer was considered to be the closest thing that Randall ever had to an actual friend.
Once, after returning from a particularly long hiatus, he claimed that he had met a woman in Florida to whom he was now engaged. He bragged about her family’s wealth and said that he would be moving south in the following weeks to start a job as a supervisor at her father’s boat factory. Seeing as her father was so unbelievably wealthy, they had also been given a house in which to live as a wedding gift. Eventually, Randall’s supposed wedding day came and went without any acknowledgment from him or anyone else.
He never mentioned it again.
Sometime later, Randall complained that his estranged ex-girlfriend had arrived in town to drop off children of whom he claimed to have no prior knowledge. After that, he would use his fictional children as an excuse to get out of work or take off early when they “became ill.” In reality, he just wanted a weekend off to go hiking and was looking to drum up sympathy from those around him.
Spauer never met any of these women and believed that Randall had most likely never been in an actual relationship. Once, while the two of them were driving through town, Randall pointed to a store and said, “My little lady works behind the counter in there.” Spauer pulled up to the store and said that he needed to use the restroom. He asked Randall if he would like to go inside to say hello to his girlfriend, but he refused.
After using the restroom, Spauer returned to the truck and Randall did not speak to him for the remainder of their drive.
For the next few years of his life, Randall continued working for Spauer when he felt like it, and while it certainly did not make him rich, it did allow him to afford quality hiking and camping supplies that he used to continue exploring the Appalachian trail. While hiking, Randall would sometimes disappear for days at a time without anyone, including his own mother, noticing. These trips provided him with a good source of exercise, and by the time he reached the age of 20, the once frail boy had begun to put on both weight and muscle. He was described as “fleshy, like a football player who had given up training.”
The Hunt
Now that Deputy Lawson had pieced together as clear of a picture of Randall Smith as possible, he used the evidence found within Smith’s home to acquire an arrest warrant. Because of Smith’s limited resources, investigators assumed that he could not have traveled far; they began searching the nearby forests, first focusing on spots where he was known to make camp. After that, they widened their search to cover several miles behind the Smith’s home.
Unfortunately, after nearly a week of exhaustive, fruitless searching, Deputy Lawson and his team ended their manhunt with nothing to show for it. Just as Susan and Robert had done, Randall Smith had seemingly vanished, and investigators began to wonder if the fake kidnapping letter found on Randall’s desk was actually his own version of a suicide note.
By this point, police knew that Randall Smith was known for his tall-tails, and they also knew that he desperately wanted people to believe them. He wasn’t satisfied with his boring, unfulfilled life, so, they wondered, what if this whole thing was an elaborate setup to make everyone question what they thought they knew about him. What if he had decided to build an unbelievable narrative about murder and kidnapping—a story that no one in their right mind would believe—that would eventually prove to be truthful when his dead body was eventually discovered.
Whatever the case, Deputy Lawson was exhausted and the case was going nowhere. It had been nearly a month since the investigation had begun, and there were still no leads on Randall’s location. Since the case seemed like it might be going cold, Lawson decided to take his family on a weekend vacation to Myrtle Beach, South Carolina in order to clear his mind. He hoped that the change of scenery would give him time to reflect on the case and, when he returned, he might be able to offer a new perspective.
The next thing that happened was so unlikely that it required triple-checking sources to ensure that it was not a fictitious recounting of the events.
While on vacation in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, Deputy Lawson was sitting in his motel room when he received a call stating that a person matching Randall Smith’s description had been arrested and was being held in, of all places, Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
On June 11th, 1981, Randall’s truck had been discovered abandoned in a parking area. The plates had been removed. Local police searched the vehicle and discovered a discarded piece of paper in the ashtray that contained the following words:
“This boy and girl have been so nice to me… it is going to be a real shame when the time comes to get rid of them,”
The note ended with the sentence:
“I will be far away before (the) truck and those people are found.”
After thoroughly violating the first rule of criminal conduct, Randall smith was apprehended on June 22nd after he was discovered camping near his abandoned vehicle.
After receiving the call, Deputy Lawson gave his room number to the local police, and a few minutes later, a patrol car pulled up with the potential suspect handcuffed in the backseat. Lawson rushed outside, and the moment he laid eyes on the man, he knew that it was Randall Smith.
Randall was ragged and had obviously been living outdoors for quite a while. His clothing was filthy and stained and his skin was covered in marks from several hundred insect bites. Lawson asked for the man’s name, but he simply shook his head saying that he could not remember because he had bumped his head and was suffering from amnesia.
Despite what lazy TV and Movie writers would have you believe, amnesia is actually very rare and quite serious. It’s not something that just happens because a person bumps their head and then resolves itself before the end of the episode. Amnesia doesn’t usually make you forget everything about yourself. Instead, it causes you to forget certain events and milestones in your life.
If your brain was a computer, think of it less like an empty hard drive and more like a single corrupted file. When amnesia does occur, it is often caused by strokes, seizures, heart attacks, brain tumors, or carbon monoxide poisoning. When physical injury is the cause, it is usually the result of a very traumatic incident such as a car accident or falling down multiple flights of stairs. Not bumping your head on a tree limb.
Deputy Lawson rolled his eyes; this was definitely Randall Smith.
However, in order to take custody of the man and transport him across state lines and back to Virginia, he had to use a bit of trickery to prove it. He looked at Randall and then looked at his bug bites. He leaned in to examine them closer, shook his head and then whispered something into the ear of the arresting officer. The officer looked surprised before shaking his head in agreement.
Randall’s interest was piqued; he asked the men what they were talking about.
Lawson and the officer took a moment and then told Randall that the bug bites on his skin had become infected and that without proper medical intervention, he may very well die. Randall considered this for a moment and then pleaded with the officers for help. Officer Lawson told him that in order to receive treatment, Randall needed to fill out a medical consent form using his full legal name. Randall agreed and the officer presented the form to him.
At the bottom of the page, the man with amnesia hastily scrawled the name Randall L. Smith.
Establishing Motive
Now, Randall Smith may not have been a Big Brain, but Deputy Lawson was convinced that he was not mentally incapable of answering for his crimes either. He didn’t believe for a second that Randall was unable to understand right from wrong, as the signs of premeditation and a subsequent cover-up were all there. In Lawson’s mind, the events that transpired the night of Susan and Robert’s murder probably went something like this:
Randall Smith left his home sometime between May 15th and May 19th. He made camp at an unknown location somewhere in the woods around Dismal Creek and likely began walking the trail as soon as he arrived.
At some point, Randall met Susan and Robert, and the three began hiking together. After traveling with them long enough to be seen by several other hikers, possibly a day or more, Randall parted ways with them and either returned to his own camp or, more likely, followed closely behind—just out of sight.
Based on the contents of their stomachs and the level of digestion that was seen during the autopsy, we know that the pair ate a relatively large meal and that they were killed fairly early in the night. Because of this, investigators believed that Susan and Robert ate their dinner and immediately went to bed. As soon as Randall saw that they were asleep, he approached Wapiti Shelter with a .22 pistol that had yet to be recovered.
After stealthily approaching the campsite, Randall attempted to quickly eliminate Robert by firing a single shot directly into the back of his head as he slept; however, because of the small size of the .22 Caliber bullet, the shot failed to penetrate Robert’s skull. Instead of dying instantly as Randall had intended, Robert struggled to his feet and attempted to wrestle Randall to the ground. During the scuffle, Randall shot him in the face. This time, it was lethal.
Robert collapsed onto the floor of the Shelter, his blood flowed over the floorboards, staining them, and then pooled underneath.
Randall then turned his attention to Susan. By this time, she was more than likely on her feet. Instead of shooting her, Randall used a nearby fire poker to knock her senseless and then, using a spiked nail that he pulled from Wapiti shelter itself, stabbed Susan 13 times. As he did this, Susan fought back and received lacerations on her hands and wrists.
Because of the different ways in which the two were killed, police believed that Susan was Randall’s primary target, as she had been the focus of his rage. Robert’s death was less personal and seemed to have been done in a way that would quickly incapacitated him—had the bullet penetrated his skull.
At this point, Randall may or may not have sexually assaulted Susan. The autopsy results were inconclusive because the body was in such poor condition by the time it was discovered.
After ensuring that Robert was dead by firing a second shot into his face, Randall moved and buried both of their bodies in separate, shallow graves. He then returned to the shelter, gathered their things, and took his time as he distributed them throughout the forest. It was during this time that Randall is believed to have left the bloody fingerprint inside Susan’s book.
He then returned to his mother’s home, threw his bloody clothing into the wash, and wrote the fake kidnapping note. Within the next few days, Randall left home without saying goodbye to anyone. He then fled to South Carolina where he abandoned his truck and camped in unfamiliar territory for about a month.
After being captured, Randall was transported back to Virginia where he was charged with two counts of first-degree murder. During police interrogations, Randall continued to feign bouts of amnesia. When they asked him general questions about his life, he would sometimes give vague answers, but when the questions became too direct or personal, he would casually slip away and claim to not remember where he was. A Psychologist was brought in to examine him, and he concluded that Randall was, unsurprisingly, faking his condition.
This amnesia would continue intermittently for the next few weeks as the prosecution continued to build a case around him. The fact that Randall had committed the murders was not up for debate; however, their biggest concern was that they could not establish a motive. This was apparently a problem, as they felt that they may not be able to get a conviction without one.
Taking into account all of the evidence that had been presented, it is difficult to understand why the prosecution felt this way. They had the bodies. They had the murder weapons. They had witnesses that could place the three of them together. They had a note admitting that he planned to kill them. They had Randall Smith’s fingerprint stamped in the victim’s blood at the crime scene. It was an ironclad case, but establishing motive was a big concern for some reason.
Here are the various theories that were considered, with the evidence that both supports and refutes each one:
By this time, most people did not subscribe to the idea that Randall had planned the entire ordeal as an elaborate murder-suicide. The first and most obvious problem with this theory was that Randall smith was still alive. They reasoned that if he was willing to go through with the murders, then he would probably be willing to go through with the suicide as well.
In addition to this, although the placement of Robert and Susan’s things had originally seemed random, Deputy Lawson later said that he believes that the items had been hidden in a “complex pattern aligned with compass points.” He believed that Smith had done this because he wanted to be sure that he could locate them later on. Obviously, there would be no point in hiding souvenirs if he planned to kill himself before the bodies were even found.
And lastly, there was the discarded note that was discovered in the truck’s ashtray. The last line of it read, “(I) will be far away before (the) truck and those people are found.” If Randall had planned to commit suicide, the note would have probably said something like: “I will be dead before the truck and those people are found.”
So, with the suicide theory off the table, other theories were presented, but none of them were very convincing.
Because so many of his lies revolved around women and relationships, many theories centered around the idea that Randall committed the crime because he was attracted to Ramsay.
The prosecutor’s theory was that while Randall traveled with Susan and Robert, he became infatuated with Susan and either made a pass at her or attempted to sexually assault her, at which time Robert intervened and ordered Randall to get lost. Unable to deal with the rejection, Randall followed them and killed them in retaliation.
The brutal manner in which Susan was killed gave credibility to this theory; however, it is also refuted by the note:
“This boy and girl have been so nice to me … it is going to be a real shame when the time comes to get rid of them,”
This obviously alludes to the fact that, although no slight against Randall’s pride had occurred as of yet, he was already planning to kill them anyway.
Another theory that was put forth by Smith’s neighbors was that because of Smith’s deep connection with The Appalachian Trial, he imagined himself as a type of guardian of the forest. They believed that he would spend his free time watching and meeting hikers in order to identify what he saw as threats to the forest.
Perhaps, Smith had seen the pair doing something on the trail that he saw as unforgivable. This is complete speculation, but some internet theorists believe that Smith may have stumbled across Ramsay and Mountford having sexual intercourse and he had either been driven wild with jealousy or had viewed it as deeply disrespectful.
The final theory is one that would later be put forth in the novel Murder on the Appalachian Trail, by Jess Carr. The book is a fictional recounting of the murder, investigation and trial, but Carr did conduct many interviews with family members, neighbors and other people involved with the case. So, while the book is certainly a dramatization, she would have had plenty of insight while writing it.
Carr’s full theory is that, because Susan and Robert were social workers, they may have been able to recognize signs that Smith was a troubled man. Carr believes that the pair may have tried to connect with Smith in a way that made him feel uncomfortable and that, because of how hard Smith worked to build up a wall of lies around his true self, their ability to see who he really was terrified him. It terrified him so much that he lashed out at them in fear.
Looking at the note one last time reminds us:
“This boy and girl have been so nice to me … it is going to be a real shame when the time comes to get rid of them,”
The way that this is written implies that Smith did not want to kill Susan and Robert, but instead, felt that he had to. It wasn’t a choice; it was something that needed to be done. Randall may not have even been able to understand why he planned to kill them and had written the note as a way to process emotions that he could not verbalize.
Regardless of the reason, all of the confusion and uncertainty revolving around the case caused a massive headache for the prosecutors, and when it came time to take the case to court, something unexpected happened.
Despite all of the evidence that had been discovered, prosecutors were still worried that they may not be able to secure a conviction. They were worried that if the case went to trial, Randall may walk free and justice would never be served. Unwilling to take that risk, they offered Randall a plea deal: 30 years.
Randall and his attorney enthusiastically accepted, and on March 23rd 1982, Randall Smith pled guilty to two counts of second-degree murder.
If you’re thinking that this plea deal is a little light for a double homicide, you are absolutely correct. Residents of Pearisburg were upset. Robert’s father had been told that the state would be seeking a 71 ½ year conviction—practically a life sentence—so when he heard the number 30, he was justifiably a little pissed off. Tom Lawson struggled to rationalize the offer as well, but there was nothing more he could do.
He and the other investigators had delivered Randall Smith to them on a silver platter, but they were choosing to avoid a trial.
Overall, the entire debacle was, for lack of a better term, a shitshow. Hikers and woodsman were especially angry with the agreement and some of them protested the decision the day it became public. Signs were held that read: “Did Bob and Sue plead for their lives? Did Randall Lee Smith give them a bargain? Shame on the murderer. Shame on the justice system.”
While interviewing protesters, one of them said the following: “If another incident happens with Randall Smith, perhaps the people who are responsible for the plea bargain should be put on trial.”
The anger lasted well into the election season and the district attorney in charge of Randall’s case lost his reelection.
After the initial shock had worn off, most were still disappointed but overall relieved to have Randall behind bars. At least with the agreement, he was guaranteed to be in prison until his late fifties, when he could hopefully renter society as a reformed man. However, there was one more small problem:
Under Virginia’s law at the time, Randall smith’s guilty plea meant that he would be eligible for parole after just 5 years in prison.
To the credit of the courts, they did not approve Randall’s request for release on the 5th year, nor did they for the subsequent 10 years that followed; however, on September 27th, 1996, after serving 15 years of a 30-year sentence for the slaying of Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford, Randall Smith exited the prison system a free man.
Freedom
Now, Randall Smith left prison as a free man, however, that is not completely true. As a condition of his early release, he was ordered to wear an electronic monitor for a period of ten years. During this decade-long incarceration of a different kind, his location would be closely monitored by local police who would be watching for any signs of criminal activity.
When his mother saw him, she realized that prison had not been kind to her son. His once, husky build was now a thin reduction of its former self, a wire frame. When he walked, his limbs moved awkwardly as if they were stiff like a mannequin’s.
The first few years of Randall’s parole are a relative mystery. Most residents of Pearisburg, including those who lived nearest him, rarely saw him. His mother did all the shopping and ran all of the household errands while Randall stayed inside. He became even more of recluse than before
One of his neighbors said: “I would see him on the road and would wave, and he wouldn’t wave back. So, I stopped waving.”
In 1999, Robin and Jason Stephen purchased the property behind the Smith’s home and Randall quickly approached the couple with a proposition. He told them that the previous owners had allowed him to use the property to search for arrowheads and to access the Appalachian trail. He asked that, as the new owners, they allow him to continue his pastime.
He then told them that he had been a Green Beret in Vietnam and had recently acquired a degree in advance Engineering. The couple responded by telling Smith to stay the hell off of their property and away from their family.
In 2000, Smiths mother died leaving him completely alone in the home.
After her death, Randall inherited the home and was seen more frequently, although he still rarely left the property. Many neighbors began to feel sympathy for him, as they often saw him roaming around outside his home and speaking to trees, sticks and other inanimate objects. After speaking, he would pause to listen as if they were speaking back. Eventually, he adopted a dog named Bo and the two of them became inseparable.
In the following years, Smith became slightly more social and attempted to gain the trust of his new neighbors, Robin and Jason, by acting as the world’s most untrustworthy security system. He spent his afternoons watching their property line and calling them whenever he saw anyone cross onto their land without permission. Once, Smith confronted a group of teenagers attempting to enter the Stephen’s property. He approached the teens and ordered them to leave, but, when they refused, he flew into a rage and threatened them: “Why don’t you go down to the sheriff’s office and ask them who I am and what I did?”
Jason would occasionally check in with Randall to ensure that he was still alive and had not gone on another murderous spree, but that all stopped when Randall revealed to him that he liked to watch his wife. He said that he could, “see her (from) a mile away with that jet black hair.” Jason once again ordered Randall to stay the hell away from his family and his infrequent visits to Randall’s home ceased entirely.
On September 26th, 2006, Randall’s parole ended and he was finally free to come and go as he pleased without the watchful eye of the government.
Unable to take a hint, he approached the Stephens one final time. This time he requested to buy a parcel of the their land so that he could place a trailer on it. He told them that he wanted to be as near to The Appalachian Trail as possible. Knowing that Randall did not have the money to afford it, the Stephens declined and, once again, told him to stay off of their property.
A year later, the couple sold the entire parcel of land to someone else to be done with Randall and his creepy ways.
But, not one to simply take no for an answer, Smith approached Robin Stephens one day in town and told her that he intended to sell his home and move far, far away. He said that he had recently been in the hospital and that his days as of walking the Appalachian trail were over and that he had some things he needed to do in another state. Knowing that she was a real estate agent, he requested that she come over to his home to take some photographs and act as his agent while selling it.
She declined.
In late March of 2008, with no inheritance left and his meager savings depleted, Randall’s electric and water services were disconnected for non-payment. With no way to pay his bills, Randall prepared supplies, took his dog, and fled into the woods one final time.
Almost an Action Movie
Now, we return back to 2008 where our story began. Scott Johnson and his best friend, Sean Farmer, had just shared a campfire meal of rainbow trout and canned beans with their new friend, Ricky Williams, and his dog. Ricky, whose real name—as you have already figured out—is Randall Lee Smith, had just risen to his feet and shot Sean Farmer directly in the face with a .22 pistol that he had been hiding inside his coat pocket for the duration of their meal.
Sean Farmer saw the flash from Randall Smith’s hand and felt the tiny bullet tear into his cheek. The sound around him faded and was replaced by a deafening ring. Sean looked up at Randall but saw that his focus was no longer on him as he had turned to face Scott.
Seeing the gun now pointed directly at him, Scott sprang from his chair and attempted to flee toward the nearby tree line. Two more shots rang out and Scott felt a sharp, tugging pain rip through the side of his neck followed by another in his back. The bullets did not stop him, however, and soon Scott scrambled into the bushes and out the other side.
Randall turned his attention back to Sean, who had somehow managed to rise to his feet, and fired another shot directly into the man’s chest. Sean stumbled backwards, but the six-foot-four, 325lb man still did not fall. Blood was filling his left eye as he struggled to remain upright.
For a brief moment, he and Randall stared at one another before Randall pulled the trigger yet again. This time, the gun only returned a soft, empty click.
Randall’s countenance was like that of statue, expressionless and unchanging as he waited for Sean to make the next move. Sean’s eyes darted from Randall, to the gun, to the direction he had last seen Scott, and then, finally, back to Randall. With no sign of his friend and the man’s dog barking wildly at him, Sean darted in the direction of his Jeep. He did not know if Randall was chasing him, and he dared not turn back to find out.
As fast as he could and with one eye now swelling shut from the trauma, Sean climbed into the driver’s seat and turned over the engine. He threw the car into reverse and slammed his foot against the gas pedal. Gravel and dust flew into the air as his wheels attempted to gain traction.
From within the woods, Scott heard the sound of the Jeep’s engine spring to life and knew that he only had moments to act. With each beat of his heart, blood squirted from the wound in his neck. The bushes beside him were covered in glistening crimson and he feared that he might bleed out right there. Quickly, he plugged the hole in his neck with his finger, and bolting in the direction of the road.
He emerged from the woods and stepped directly into the Jeep’s headlights. He waved his arm wildly in the air as the vehicle skidded to a halt right beside him.
Scott climbed into the passenger seat and screamed, “Go! Go, Sean!”
Sean Farmer, having been shot in the face and chest and nearly blind in both eyes from the swelling, closed his eyes and operated the pedals as Scott, who was still plugging the bullet hole in his neck with his own finger, steered the jeep from the passenger’s seat. The two worked together as Scott gave Sean orders like, “more gas” and “less gas” as they sped through the curvy, mountainous terrain at nearly 50 miles-per-hour.
After several close calls and near accidents, the two made it down the mountain to a house that appeared to be occupied.
“Stop here,” Scott shouted, “these people will help us!”
The Jeep halted in the middle of the road and Scott jumped out and ran toward the house. He shouted: “Call 911! My friend and I have been shot!”
Millissa Miller answered the door and saw Scott standing with a finger in his neck, his shirt soaked from collar to cuff in blood. Behind him, Sean stumbled from the Jeep and began shuffling toward the house.
Millissa rushed to the phone and dialed 911 before grabbing blankets and returning to nurse their wounds. 45 minutes later, an air ambulance arrived and began treatment.
Scott heard one of the medics say that he didn’t have a pulse. The next thing he knew, he and Sean were in the helicopter and being whisked away to a nearby hospital where a team of doctors and nurses were busy preparing for their arrival.
Scott smiled. Somehow, they had made it.
The Last Lie
After failing to unjam his .22 pistol, Randall had allowed Scott and Sean to escape. He grabbed the keys to Scott’s Ford Ranger and ordered Bo into it’s cab. He fled down the mountain where he was eventually spotted by a trooper who gave chase. After a brief pursuit, Randall crashed Scott’s pickup and was badly injured. He was pulled from the wreckage and taken to the same hospital where Scott and Sean were being treated.
While processing the crash site, the trooper found several items, including the truck itself, that linked Randall to the shooting: A pair of Scott’s sunglasses were found in the floor along with the .22 caliber pistol, more than 20 knives, meat cleavers and several other unspecified weapons. Also in the floorboard, they found several bizarre drawings and rambling notes.
This note played no small role in revitalizing the Guardian of the Trail theory. It was a prayer that read as follows:
“Hail to the guardians of the watchtower of the north. By the powers of mother and earth hear me…show me thy glory…I invoke thee oh, ancient one.”
This is apparently a Wicca prayer, and while the author has no interest in researching Wiccans, this is apparently enough to give credit to that theory.
Five days later, Randall Smith was released from the hospital. Former Deputy Tom Lawson—now assistant superintend of the Giles County Jail—once again ushered Randall Smith into a jail cell and closed the door behind him.
Randall never gave a reason for the second attack, nor the first one for that matter, and just a day later, he died alone in his cell. An autopsy revealed that he likely died from the injuries that he sustained during the crash and that he may have been released from the hospital too early.
Scott Johnson and Sean Farmer both survived that evening with Randall smith and, after a long recovery, both are still alive and lead normal lives. Scott had to have extensive surgery on his neck and was in the hospital for six days. As for Sean, the doctors told him that the bullet missed his carotid artery by one millimeter. If Randall would have hit it, Sean would have bled out within minutes.
To this day, so much of the mystery that revolves around Randall’s life still remains. What exactly went wrong? Was this a case of Nature or Nurture? Why exactly did he feel the need to kill? He was intelligent enough to know that what he was doing was wrong and to attempt to cover up his crimes, but he did so in such a poor way that one has to wonder why he even tried.
The only thing that we know for sure is that Randall did not want to be himself. He wanted other people to think that he was more than he actually was. He wanted someone to notice him and, perhaps, he just wanted a friend. Perhaps, if Randall had found that friend, things may have turned out differently for him. Perhaps, if he had chosen to be himself, he might still be alive.
If there is one lesson to be learned from Randall Smith’s story, it is that as much as we might want to, we can’t control what the world thinks about us. The best we can do is be who we really are and hope that the world accepts us.
That is a lesson that Randall Smith never learned and as a result, he died just as he lived: alone. Alone in a cell. Alone, with no one but his victims and their families to remember his name. To be remember not with joy and celebration, but as a liar and a murderer, the way that no one should ever want to be remembered.
Additional Notes
While on probation after his release in 1996, Randall was approached by a man seeking a favor. The man showed Randall the book that had been written about his crimes, Murder on the Appalachian Trail, and requested that he sign a copy. His reasoning was that he believed a signed copy would be worth something after Randall died. Randall refused.
Wapiti Shelter is actually still standing to this day, and many hikers continue to use it despite its tragic history. Many who stay there claim that they can hear the screams of Susan and Robert coming from the forest at night, and the top search result on Google for “Wapiti Shelter” is a video titled: “Wapiti Shelter is it haunted?”
Randall’s dog, Bo, survived the crash and lived a full and happy life after being adopted by one of Randall’s former neighbors.
Key Takeaways
- Randall Lee Smith murdered hikers Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford near Wapiti Shelter on the Appalachian Trail in 1981, then fled to South Carolina where he was coincidentally arrested while Deputy Lawson was vacationing there.
- Despite overwhelming evidence including a bloody fingerprint and a note planning the murders, prosecutors offered Smith a plea deal of only 30 years; he was paroled after 15 years in 1996.
- In 2008, Smith—using the alias ‘Ricky Williams’—befriended and then shot campers Scott Johnson and Sean Farmer near the same area where he committed his first murders 27 years earlier.
- Johnson and Farmer miraculously escaped: Farmer drove blind while Johnson steered and plugged his own neck wound with his finger, reaching help before both were airlifted to the hospital.
- Smith died alone in his jail cell one day after being recaptured, having never explained his motives for either attack; his dog Bo survived and was adopted by a former neighbor.
Dana Ortiz covers prosecutorial mechanics, evidentiary procedure, and how investigations unwind decades after the original case file went cold.
Frequently Asked Questions
Where and when did Scott Johnson encounter Ricky Williams (Randall Lee Smith)?
Scott Johnson encountered Ricky Williams in May 2008 just outside of Pearisburg, Virginia, near Dismal Creek along the edge of the George Washington and Jefferson National Forest. Scott noticed the man after seeing his malnourished dog beside the creek while driving along a narrow, winding road after a day of fishing.
What false claims did Ricky Williams make to Scott Johnson and Sean Farmer at their campsite?
Ricky Williams claimed he had graduated Valedictorian from Virginia Tech, had authored several papers for NASA’s research and development team, and bragged about having many romantic partners. These were all tall-tales he crafted to impress his new acquaintances.
What happened to Sean Farmer and Scott Johnson after sharing a meal with Ricky Williams?
After the meal, as Ricky Williams was leaving, he shot Sean Farmer in the face with a small .22 pistol, then turned the gun on Scott Johnson. Scott fled into the woods despite being shot in the neck and back. Sean, though shot in the face and chest, managed to escape in his Jeep with Scott steering from the passenger seat while plugging his own neck wound. Both survived after receiving emergency medical treatment.
Who were Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford, and what happened to them in 1981?
Susan Ramsay and Robert Mountford were social workers from Maine who set out in spring 1981 to thru-hike the entire 2,000-mile Appalachian Trail to raise money for disabled children. They were murdered near Wapiti Shelter outside Pearisburg, Virginia in May 1981. Susan was stabbed 13 times with a fire poker and spiked nail, while Robert was shot three times. Their bodies were found buried in shallow graves near the shelter.
How did Deputy Tom Lawson identify Randall Smith as the suspect in the 1981 murders?
A bloody fingerprint found inside one of Susan Ramsay’s paperback novels matched fingerprints on file from Randall Lee Smith’s employment at a shipyard in Newport News, Virginia. Investigators then discovered Smith had moved back to live with his mother in Pearisburg, and a search of his home revealed blood-stained clothes and items belonging to the victims.
What was found in Randall Smith’s truck when he was arrested in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina?
In the ashtray of Randall Smith’s abandoned truck, police found a discarded piece of paper containing the words: ‘This boy and girl have been so nice to me… it is going to be a real shame when the time comes to get rid of them,’ and ‘I will be far away before (the) truck and those people are found.’ The plates had been removed from the vehicle.
How did Deputy Lawson trick Randall Smith into revealing his identity after his arrest?
Deputy Lawson whispered to the arresting officer that Smith’s insect bites had become infected and could kill him without treatment. When Randall pleaded for help, Lawson said he needed to fill out a medical consent form with his full legal name. The man claiming amnesia hastily wrote ‘Randall L. Smith’ on the form.
What was unusual about Randall Smith’s childhood and how did he get his nickname?
Until about age three, Randall’s mother Loretta dressed him exclusively in feminine colors and dresses, and frequently referred to him as her daughter. As a child, he was a loner who told elaborate lies to classmates—some believable (his father was a war hero), others outlandish (his family were secret millionaires). When caught in lies, he would double down and become angry. His tall tales earned him the unaffectionate nickname ‘L.R.’ for ‘Lyin’ Randall,’ which he paradoxically seemed to embrace.
What plea deal did Randall Smith receive for the 1981 double murder, and how much time did he actually serve?
Despite overwhelming evidence, prosecutors offered Randall Smith a plea deal of 30 years for two counts of second-degree murder, which he accepted on March 23, 1982. Under Virginia law at the time, his guilty plea made him eligible for parole after just 5 years. He was denied parole for 10 years but was released on September 27, 1996, after serving 15 years of his 30-year sentence.
What happened to Randall Smith after his 2008 attack on Scott Johnson and Sean Farmer?
After failing to unjam his .22 pistol, Randall fled in Scott Johnson’s Ford Ranger with his dog Bo. He crashed during a brief police pursuit and was badly injured. Taken to the same hospital as his victims, he was released five days later and returned to jail by former Deputy Tom Lawson, now assistant superintendent of Giles County Jail. Randall died alone in his cell the next day, likely from crash injuries sustained when he was released from the hospital too early.
Sources
- Original Casual Criminalist video: The Twisted Tale of “Lyin’ Randall”: The Appalachian Wanderer
- Hero image source by IAEA Imagebank / openverse, by.
