On Monday, February 13, 2017, 13-year-old Abby Williams and her best friend, 14-year-old Libby German hiked from their homes in Delphi, IN, to explore the nearby Monon High Bridge. With their parents’ permission, they spent the afternoon walking along the abandoned train tracks. But as evening fell and the time came for them to meet up with their families, the girls were nowhere to be found.
The search began that night and continued to the next day, when the girls’ bodies were found and police announced that they suspected foul play was involved.
Five days later, a man seen walking along the Monon High Bridge around the same time as the two girls was named as a suspect in their murders. But the case remains open, and the girls’ city will glow with orange porch lights until it is solved.
Watching as Delphi made headlines for the most tragic of reasons and grief swept through his town was Mayor Shane Evans ’12.
WM sat down with Evans to find out how the people of the city, and its mayor, are doing in the wake of such tragic losses.
WM: How were you first made aware of everything that was going on that evening?
Shane: I had gone to a Frankfort City Council meeting that night just to watch. The fire department got called out around 7 p.m. and I didn’t check my phone because I was in the meeting. When I got back, I had a text from a friend that said two girls are missing. I remember calling our Chief of Police, and I went out to the bridge.
I was hoping for the best.
I was hoping they had wandered off, maybe stayed the night at a friend’s house and they were scared to call because they knew people were out looking for them. But my hope was that they would show up in the morning. I think I slept 15 minutes that night.
The next 24 hours must have been chaotic as everyone searched for Abby and Libby. Is everything a blur to you?
No, it’s still very vivid.
On Tuesday morning, I got a call pretty early from the Chief of Police saying we were going to open up the fire department and start having search crews. I think everybody rolled in around 6:30 a.m. The Indiana Department of Homeland Security was already there ready to provide logistical support.
Throughout the day, we had volunteers coming in from the community, and various governmental agencies offered their services with search and rescue teams as well as dive teams.
And then came the news that the girls’ bodies had been found.
It was a wave of emotions. Monday and Tuesday we were just hoping we would find Abby and Libby alive.
And then the devastation, frustration, and bitterness that we felt after we found them. I tried to hold it together the best I could—for the volunteers from the search parties who were at the fire station, the law enforcement officers, and especially the girls’ families.
How well did you end up actually holding it together?
That first day, I was an emotional wreck. I cried. And I hadn’t even gone through what the law enforcement officers had gone through, what the families of the girls had gone through, and the community as a whole. I don’t think it affects people just within the city of Delphi or Carroll County. It affects people across the state. People became more vigilant and have this in the back of their minds. It affects everyone; we grieve together.
There was obviously a lot of grief being felt, and that still is felt, by everyone in Delphi, but did you notice a visible change?
There was an air of gravity within the community, and I think you could feel its weight.
And you still can to some extent.
Normally it’s a city where you wave, smile, and say hello. But for those first two or three weeks, everyone just kind of looked down at the ground, maybe gave a little nod, but it definitely wasn’t the same.
Though you have a law degree from Indiana University, when you studied at Wabash, you were a chemistry major. Could anything have prepared you for something like this?
No, I don’t think you can train anybody for this. And I think, if it were to happen again, everybody would still feel the same emotions.
I think what you learn at Wabash becomes a part of you—thinking critically, acting responsibly, leading effectively, living humanely, conducting yourself as a gentleman at all times. That’s helpful.
But I don’t know if you necessarily should be trained on how to feel or act in instances like this because you can’t anticipate how you would feel in those situations. Different people grieve differently, and it’s important to feel those emotions and get them out. I can’t imagine trying to bottle them up. I mean, I tried for four hours before I broke down.
It’s been months since the investigation started, and progress is hard to measure. What comes next?
Everyone is hoping for closure. I think
the community will feel better if this case
is solved, and I think law enforcement is optimistic they will solve it. There were more than 19,000 tips the last time I checked,
and they are still following up on leads. The resources that were there before are still available. There are fewer FBI on site, but they’re still just a phone call away. It looks like the investigation has dwindled down, but really it’s just more streamlined and efficient. It’s very rare to have a case like this, so it’s not something that anybody signed up for.
But the community support and the way everyone has rallied around each other makes me proud to call Delphi home.
So this tragedy has, in a way, brought your community closer together?
The city of Delphi and all of Carroll County have gone above and beyond in their community support from the very beginning, with the large number of people who came out for the search and rescue. There was a motorcycle rally the Saturday after the girls were discovered, and everybody was out on the streets, and that continues to today with all of the people who have orange light bulbs hanging on their houses until the case is solved.
What do you think of when you see those orange lights?
They are beacons of hope—a hope that the person or persons who committed these egregious acts are found and brought to justice. They are a constant reminder of the two young lives, with the potential to do so much in this world, which were taken from us. They are a symbol of the closeness of this community and the feelings of grief we collectively share—a reminder that we are in this together, and each of us individually is part of something greater than ourselves.
