Blood on the Mountain

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Blood on the Mountain

In 1981, Randall Lee Smith murdered two hikers along the Appalachian Trail in a crime that stunned the nation.

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Those 1981 murders stunned the nation. Calls came into the county sheriff's office from all over the country, everyone wanting to know if the Appalachian Trail was safe. Tom Lawson, one of the investigators at the time, never forgot Smith's eyes: "Cold. Stone cold. And remorseless."

Those killings turned Randall Smith into what we most fear: A killer seemingly without motive. A man who wouldn't explain. A man who emerged from a life of misery to suddenly strike back at the light around him.

When Lawson heard of the Johnston and Farmer shootings, something jumped in his gut. There was blood on the mountain again. "I just knew it was Randall," Lawson says. "Just knew it."

'A Habitual Liar'

Loretta Smith raised her only child, Randall, alone in Pearisburg, a town of 2,700 about half an hour from Blacksburg. Townsfolk do not remember anyone else ever living at the house at 190 Virginia St. "She kept to herself," recalls Gerald Smith, 58, who lived near the Smiths and is unrelated. "A nice lady, though she never communicated with the neighbors."

Loretta worked in the laundry room at Giles Memorial Hospital. "She made a living, that's about all," says Carl Vest, 74, who knew relatives of the family. The Smith home was small -- four rooms and a basement.

For the first few years of his life, Loretta Smith dressed her son in girls' clothing. She never explained why.

At Giles High School, Randall made few friends. "He was a loner," says Gerald Smith, who was also a schoolmate.

On weekends, Randall took off alone to walk the Appalachian Trail, which he could see from the windows of his home.

All through junior high and high school, there was never a girlfriend. No one remembers seeing him at a local house party. On those rare occasions when he would try to fit in with other teenagers, Gerald Smith says something stood out quite clearly about Randall: "He was a habitual liar."

He told lies about money he didn't have, about property he claimed to own in other states. "The house he lived in with his mother was worth $10,000 -- max," Gerald Smith says.

That habit gave birth to a harsh nickname: "We called him 'L.R.,' for 'Lyin' Randall,' " Smith says.

The moniker didn't seem to bother him. There were even times when he turned, with a grin on his face, to someone casually using the epithet.