Rick's Prison Phone "Confessions" Audio Released
Published on April 13, 2025
The state says it has a confession. The tapes suggest something else entirely.
The full audio of the seven recently-released recorded pre-trial detention phone calls - which the state relied on in its conviction of Richard Allen - is available at the bottom of this post.
In April 2023, Richard Allen, a CVS pharmacy technician from Delphi, Indiana, detained in connection with the infamous 2017 murders of Abigail Williams and Liberty German, told his wife over a monitored prison phone line: “I did it. I don’t know why. Because maybe I did it. I think I did.” At first glance, the words seem damning, an apparent confession to a brutal crime that has haunted the Midwest for years. But listen more closely, and a troubling pattern emerges. Mr Allen was not speaking with certainty, but with confusion.
The phone calls, obtained from Allen’s time in pre-trial detention - not jail, unusually, but a maximum-security prison - offer a rare window into the mind of a man deteriorating in real time. Since his incarceration, it has become public knowledge that Mr Allen was treated, inappropriately, with Haldol, a potent antipsychotic used for schizophrenia and acute psychosis. He has a documented history of major depressive disorder (MDD) and dependent personality disorder (DPD). The combination of mental illness, isolation, and powerful medications creates a fertile environment for something far more insidious than a genuine confession: a false one.
The anatomy of a breakdown
Mr Allen’s first brush with ambiguity came in November 2022, shortly after his arrest. Speaking to his wife Kathy over the phone, he said: “I’ll tell them whatever they want me to say.” The phrase is almost textbook compliant behavior, a hallmark of false confessions. It signalled early on that Allen’s priority was not truth, but appeasement.
By April 3rd, 2023, his condition had worsened. “I did it. I don’t know why. Because maybe I did it. I think I did.” The statement is a loop of uncertainty, each sentence contradicting or undermining the last. Far from an admission of guilt, it suggests cognitive confusion and internalization, where a person begins to doubt their own memory or actions. This phenomenon is not rare in those with depressive disorders or those subjected to intense pressure. As Mr Allen was also under the influence of Haldol at the time, the effects would likely include emotional blunting, impaired thinking, and akathisia, a near-torturous inner restlessness that can push a person to desperation.
By May, the desperation was on full display. On May 10th, Allen again spoke with Kathy. “I think maybe I’m losing my mind but I’m not sure,” he said, before launching into a seemingly heartfelt statement: “I need you to know that I did this… I’m definitely gonna lose my mind now though… I killed Abby and Libby.” But even this apparent confession is riddled with red flags. He reported that “somebody [was] listening to me here right now”, indicating he felt watched, possibly a paranoid delusion, or possibly the reality that he was being watched and coerced. He spoke of a dream in which he had to let his wife go. He framed the confession not in terms of justice or remorse, but as an emotional catharsis: “I'm just trying to be at peace with things.”
An admission of love, not guilt
On May 17th, speaking to his mother, Allen asked: “So did Kathy tell you that I did it? I was just worried you weren’t gonna love me because I said that I did it.” It was a revealing moment. For someone with dependent personality disorder, relationships are paramount, often even more than one’s own safety or freedom. His concern was not the legal implications of a confession to double murder, but whether his mother still loved him. He also lamented that “they’re not letting me get any mail anymore” and had previously been blocked from speaking with his therapist. Isolation, another major risk factor for false confession, appeared to be taking its toll.
On June 5th, Allen once more blurred the line between assertion and self-doubt: “I feel like I’ve lost my mind. You know that I done it, right?” Again, the certainty is not his own. He does not say “I know I did it”, he implies that Kathy believes he did. This tendency to defer to others’ beliefs is a defining trait of DPD, and may point to a kind of coerced confession through emotional dependence.
The most haunting call came on June 11th. “I did it. Kathy, I did it. Do you still love me?… Probably gonna have to kill myself now.” He rambled in emotional turmoil. “I feel like I’ve lost my mind… I feel like I’m already in hell. They’ve taken the Bible from me… I guess I’m gonna have to stop calling.” The context is unmistakably that of a man in crisis. The statement “I did it” is buried in a torrent of suicidal ideation, spiritual distress, and psychological breakdown. Even the line “I didn’t wanna do this”, presumably referring to the call, suggests a reluctance to speak, not a compulsion to confess. At this point, the idea of guilt seems inseparable from a desperate plea for love, forgiveness, or an end to suffering.
Confessions under dark clouds
The American legal system has, in recent years, begun to reckon with the phenomenon of false confessions. The Innocence Project reports that more than 25% of wrongful convictions overturned by DNA evidence involved a false confession. Vulnerable populations - those with mental illness, cognitive impairments, or intense emotional dependencies - are particularly at risk.
Mr Allen fits this profile. His statements are replete with signs of internalized false confession, where the suspect, through psychological erosion, begins to believe in their own guilt despite an absence of memory or motive. He was compliant, confused, medicated inappropriately, and cut off from therapeutic and social supports.
These are not the signs of a clear-headed murderer coming clean. They are the utterances of a man who, by his own admission, felt he had lost his mind, and who may have lost much more than that in the process.
Listen for yourself and make your own assessment
The following audio file is a composite of the seven recorded phone calls, six to Mr Allen's wife, Kathy, and one to his mother.