Hey everyone, Josh Dean here. Each week here on Camillean I tell you stories about people who live by deception. Individuals who don't just tell lies, but sometimes become someone else entirely. These people hide in plain sight, and they manipulate everyone around them often for years, before the truth finally comes to light. But it's no secret these crimes aren't the only ones out there. And we often learn the most details about crimes, crime of deception, or worse, once they enter the courtroom. And today, I'm sharing a show with you that takes us inside the courtroom, into the strategies, the stakes, and what may unfold after the gabbalfalls. It's called the 13th Jurer. Each week, host Brandy Churchwell invites you to become the 13th Jurer, as she walks you through the core of a case. Not just the crime, but the trial. How the prosecution builds its narrative, how the defense pushes back, what the jury heard, and what they didn't. Brandy is a way of untangling complex investigations and courtroom drama with clarity and restraint. Focusing on the details that actually matter, and then you, the 13th Jurer, can decide where you think the truth lies. This week, Brandy is taking on a case that shook the entire country, and devastated a small Indiana town, the Delphi murders. Brandy pulls us into the investigation of what happened to Liberty German and Abigail Williams. Two young girls whose lives were cut short on an unseasonably warm February afternoon. She traces the long, difficult path to answers, the arrest of Richard Allen, and how the prosecution assembled its case as the trial became a flashpoint of emotion, evidence, and national scrutiny. And she's giving chameleon listeners a peek right here, right now. Let's listen. See, this is the path. There's no path going there, so we have to get down here. It's one of the most haunting recordings in American True Crime. A grainy image of a man walking along a dilapidated railroad bridge toward the camera, seemingly unaware he's being filmed. He's wearing jeans and a blue jacket layered over something darker, with his hands buried deep in his pockets. His head tilts slightly forward as he steps across the uneven railroad ties. The shadow falls on his face, making him even harder to identify. The clip lasts just a few seconds. And right at the end, just as the camera pans toward the ground, four words are spoken, barely audible over the crunch of gravel and the blowing wind. An unidentified voice gives a calm, but commanding order. Guys, down the hill. That short recording became the centerpiece of a double murder case that would shake the small town of Delphi, Indiana. Two middle school best friends set out for an afternoon hike along the winding, monon high bridge trails and never came home. Their bodies were found the next day. And the only clue to who might have done this to them was that recording captured on the phone of one of the girls. A chilling fragment of evidence marking the final moments of their lives and the beginning of a mystery that would haunt their families, their town, and the nation. For more than five years, he was known only as bridge guy. Then in 2022, police gave him a name, Richard Allen, a 50-year-old CVS employee who had admitted to being on the trail that day. And as the investigation unfolded, the case divided nearly everyone who followed it. Some were sure police had their man. Others were just as sure Richard Allen was innocent and they pointed the finger elsewhere. As the case wound its way through the legal system, the twist and turns only multiplied, each revelation leaving the public more stunned than the last. What happened along that trail in Delphi became one of the most chilling and fiercely debated murder cases in Indiana history. The prosecution says it's just a served. The defense says it's at the expense of an innocent man, but it's the jurors who have the final say. This is the 13th Jura podcast where we break down real court cases and put you in the jurors' seat. Two sides, the same evidence. You decide what to believe. I'm your host, Brandy Churchwell. Today's episode is Indiana vs. Richard Allen, part one, The Prosecution Story. 14-year-old Liberty German and 13-year-old Abigail Williams were the kind of best friends who balanced each other in all the right ways. Libby was the more outgoing of the two. Adventurous, confident, and a little bold. She loved softball and swimming and had an eye for photography, always capturing the world exactly as she saw it. She spoke her mind, asked questions few others thought to ask, and had a way of making people laugh. Abby, the younger of the pair at just 13, carried herself with a confidence far beyond her years. She loved the outdoors and sports, especially volleyball, and had a creative streak that came out in her school projects and her art. Her family described her as fiercely loyal, with a quiet strength all her own. Someone who could stand her ground without making a scene. Abby and Libby had been best friends for years, inseparable in the way only middle school girls can be. They were in the band together, played volleyball together, and even vacation with each other's families. They traded clothes, shared inside jokes, and spent countless afternoon together, wandering trails, joking around, and enjoying the freedom of being young. On Monday, February 13, 2017, in Delphi, Indiana, Abby and Libby woke up from their sleep over the night before. Their school was closed for a teacher work day, so Abby had spent the night at Libby's house. The girls wandered into the kitchen to find Libby's dad making banana pancakes. They ate, joked around, and talked about what to do with their free day. The weather was unusually warm for mid-February in Indiana. The frost had melted, the sun was out, and there was just the slightest hint of spring in the air. The kind of day that pulls kids outside after months of a bitter Midwestern winter. Abby and Libby didn't want to waste it indoors, so they asked for permission to walk the local trails. Delphi is a small town with a population of only about 3,000 people, but it's defined by its historic trail system. Miles of wooded paths wind through the landscape along the Wabash River and Deer Creek, crossing old bridges that have held more than a century of footsteps. The trails are a favorite place for the local kids to explore, to stretch their sense of independence, and to make the most of their day off of school. Their plan was simple. Kelsey, Libby's older sister, would drop the girls off. They'd walk the trails, take some pictures, and Libby's dad would pick them up later. On the way to the trail, the girls sat in the back of Kelsey's car, laughing and taking selfies. They arrived sometime around 145 pm, and Kelsey watched as they climbed out of the car, walked toward the trailhead, and disappeared down the long winding path. By 205 pm, they had reached the Monon High Bridge. Monon High Bridge was a local landmark, a relic from another time. Once a rail line carrying trails through Carroll County, it was abandoned decades ago, and became a destination for hikers, photographers, and local kids looking for a challenge. Technically, the bridge wasn't part of the trail system, it marked the end of it, and crossing to the far side, meant stepping onto private property. But that didn't stop kids from crossing it anyway, whether on a dare or just for bragging rides. It's the kind of bridge that demands your attention when you step onto it. There are no rails to keep you from falling off the sides. The ties are weathered and uneven, and the gaps between them give way to dizzying views of the creek far below. One wrong step could mean a serious fall. But it was incredibly beautiful. Libby opened Snapchat to share what she and Abby were up to. She posted one photo of the bridge's weathered wooden ties, stretching out into the distance. Another of Abby, standing in the center of the bridge, her hair pulled up, her hands tucked into the pockets of her zip-up hoodie, she was wearing jeans and converse sneakers. Her eyes were fixed downward, watching her footing as she made her way across the deteriorating bridge. A few minutes later, at 2.13pm, Libby grabbed her phone again and pressed record. In the now infamous video, Libby is standing at the end of the bridge with her phone camera pointing down at the ground, showing the spot where the weathering railroad ties end and the gravel begins. She begins to talk about some confusion over where the trail ends, and you can hear the sound of gravel under her shoes as she moves around. In the camera shifts upwards as Abby comes into view just down the bridge. But unlike in the photos, Libby just shared, this time, Abby is not alone. There's a man trailing behind her as she makes her way towards Libby at the end of the bridge. His head is down, his hands are in his jacket pockets. As Abby makes it to the end of the bridge, Libby tells her the path they were on has ended. They're trying to figure out where to go as the man closes in behind them. And then comes the voice, guys down the hill. The camera moves just in time to see a blurry vision of Abby, then cuts off forever. It was a last recording Libby would ever make. Are you as ready for jury duty as I am? This isn't sensationalized true crime. It's a thoughtful, meticulous look at how justice is pursued and how the truth is tested once it reaches a courtroom. You can hear the rest of the episode in all future episodes of 13th Jurer, wherever you get your podcasts.
