The inability to trace Janelle’s whereabouts through the letter was frustrating, infuriating, and embarrassing for law enforcement. Yet linguistics experts confirmed that the letter was genuine and had definitely been penned by the fugitive.
The final known sighting of Janelle Stone occurred in the summer of 2021, a year after her letter to the police. She was spotted by a police officer eating an ice cream cone outdoors and appeared to be waiting for someone. At first, the officer saw her from behind, noticing how disproportionately large her hips were compared to the rest of her body.
Then the woman turned, and although she had aged drastically, there was no doubt about it. That was definitely the puffy face of Janelle Stone, with her beady eyes, narrow nose, and tiny mouth lost in the huge sphere of her face. He was pretty sure that Janelle’s real age was about 65, but he remembered how she always looked older—something many people mentioned in interviews and news articles he’d read. This woman looked 80.
His suspicions were further heightened when she appeared to become nervous upon noticing him watching her. She began to move away with her now half-eaten ice cream cone as he approached, one hand on his holster and the other requesting backup through the mic on his shoulder.
“Are you Janelle Stone?” the officer asked as he approached her.
“No, I’m not,” she replied, frustration and annoyance evident in her voice as she tossed the remnants of her ice cream cone into a trash bin.
“Ma’am, I need you to come with me,” he said, taking hold of her upper arm.
But before he could say anything else, the large and aging woman shrugged out of his grip and shoved him backward onto the pavement before taking off at a speed he didn’t think any professional athlete could match.
He quickly jumped to his feet and drew his gun, firing off a few shots. He heard Stone screaming as she ran from him, but once again, the infamous serial killer managed to get away.
The entire incident, filmed on his body cam, went viral. Those who had known her personally confirmed it was indeed Janelle Stone.
Around this same time, Steven Stone was kicked back in his recliner in the same house Janelle had lived in with him. He had refused to be scared out of his home, not that he thought she would ever return.
He was watching the news. A young man in his early twenties was being arrested on suspicion of rape and murder, and Steven knew right away who it was. The young redheaded man, at least 80 pounds overweight, was undoubtedly Janelle’s long-lost son, Brandon. Only now, he went by the name Frederick. There was no mistaking that face. He had his mother’s exact features and coloring—the same dull, tiny brown eyes that seemed to darken with anger, the same too-small nose and mouth, the same overly full face. The only difference was that Janelle never had red hair.
Steven felt sorry for whoever had adopted him, as well as for his victims.
Time passed, and as the years went by, no one ever heard from or saw Janelle Stone again.
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