Andelman.com Articles Archive
"King,
Queen & Subject"
The Murder
of Joan Amos
By Bob Andelman
(Originally published in Tampa Bay Life, Spring
1991)
Sgt. William T. "Bud" Blackmon Jr. broadcast
the second BOLO on the alleged fleeing murderer of a wealthy
St. Petersburg socialite at 1 a.m. January 30, 1990 to the four
sheriff's deputies spread across Sumter County, prowling in the
dark night.
Be on the lookout for a white male, late 20s, driving a
steel blue Mercedes-Benz. Homicide suspect. Considered armed
and dangerous.
It was a chance in a million, Blackmon figured, too much of
a long-shot to be worth patrolling the interstate. The perp from
St. Pete probably lost himself in the city until things cooled
down, anyway. No way he'd be so obvious as to get on I-75.
Still ... the only place open for miles around was the Chevron
mini-mart at the State Road 48 interchange. The nearest all-night
gas stations were 15 miles south and 12 miles north. With less
than two hours to go on his shift, Blackmon figured he could
afford to drive over and wait across the street.
It was the best hunch Bud Blackmon ever played.
No sooner had the 35-year-old sergeant begun filling in details
of the dog bites man report at 1:45 a.m. than a steel blue Mercedes
pulled up to the self-service pumps. Blackmon drove across the
street for a better look, cruising behind the car. It matched
the BOLO description, but there were two passengers, not one
- a white male got out on the passenger side to pump the gas.
And the tag numbers didn't match the BOLO.
Blackmon called the dispatcher to run the tags.
Sure enough: right car, wrong tags, right owner. No explaining
the extra passenger yet. Meanwhile, the teenager pumping gas
saw the Sumter County Sheriff's vehicle and appeared nervous
to Blackmon. The teen paid for his fuel and got back in on the
passenger side.
Blackmon couldn't approach the Mercedes here; a gas station
shoot-out could be hazardous.
The car pulled away from the pumps and toward the road. So
did Blackmon. The Mercedes driver waited for Blackmon. Blackmon
didn't budge. Seconds passed like hours. The Mercedes driver
finally entered traffic. Blackmon came up from behind him. At
the northbound interstate on-ramp, the Mercedes driver slammed
his pedal to the floorboard and took off. Blackmon flipped on
his blue lights and gave pursuit.
Six miles into the high-speed chase, Blackmon lost sight of
the vehicle on a curve. His hunches still paying off, he looked
back to the S.R. 470 overpass, glimpsed a cloud of dust and turned
around.
The Mercedes took the exit but couldn't see the sharp curve
of the ramp. The driver hit the brakes late, marking the road
with dark skid marks before plummeting into a ditch.
Quickly, the two men grabbed their belongings and crossed
the interstate's northbound lanes on foot. The driver of the
vehicle dropped a 9 mm semi-automatic revolver in the median
before the two crossed the southbound lane and scrambled down
into a culvert, crawling head-first into a narrow drain pipe
beneath the southbound on-ramp.
That's where Sgt. Bud Blackmon and a K-9 bloodhound named
Luke captured Jonathan "Jay" Ashley Amos and John Albert
DeHate.
When Jay Amos was booked in Sumter County later that morning,
under "next of kin" he wrote his grandmother's name.
He hoped his parents were both dead by now.
The first time John DeHate was in the split-level Snell
Isle home of Charles and Joan Amos was January 29, 1990. It was
2 a.m. Sunday morning and DeHate was not an invited guest of
the millionaire St. Petersburg insurance brokers.
Using keys and instructions given him by the Amos's 26-year-old
son Jay, DeHate, 19, disabled the burglar alarm from outside
and entered the house. He expected Joan and Charles to be asleep.
Joan was; Charles wasn't. He was returning to the den from the
kitchen with a snack when the front door opened.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" Charles
asked the intruder he found in his foyer.
DeHate, who did not appear to Charles to be armed, became
agitated.
"Jay and I were working in the office and he sent me
to pick up some computer back-up tapes in the kitchen,"
he chattered.
Charles didn't believe the young man, although there were
computer back-up disks in the kitchen from Friday's close of
business at the Amos family's firm, Aanco Underwriters, Inc.
DeHate said Jay was at the office waiting for him; while Charles
thought it unlikely his son was working this late, he gave DeHate
the benefit of the doubt. They went into the kitchen and called
the Aanco office. Jay was there, although he swore he didn't
know DeHate and that he had lost his keys.
"You two better get your stories straight," Charles
told his son.
Handing the phone to Dehate, he told him, "You better
work this out. You're in my house and according to my son you're
not supposed to be here."
"Jay, Don't bag me," DeHate told Charles' son during
a short conversation.
Charles, his suspicions intensifying, took the phone away
from DeHate and told his son to leave the office immediately.
He didn't trust Jay and didn't believe his denial of being acquainted
with DeHate. Hanging up, he snatched his son's house keys away
from DeHate.
Charles let the intruder leave his home without calling the
police. DeHate said he was going back to the Aanco office to
meet Jay.
After DeHate left, Charles woke Joan and told her to dress.
They were going to confront Jay in person at the office.
Driving north on 4th Street, the Amoses passed DeHate pedaling
furiously at 54th Avenue. By the time Charles and Joan got to
the office building they owned at the corner of 9th Street and
Gandy Blvd., it was 2:40 a.m. The Aanco offices were dark but
for a light in the computer room where they found Jay.
The Amoses waited 40 minutes for Dehate to show up. Charles
quizzed Jay about the two different cigarette brands snuffed
out in the ashtray; Jay said they were both his. Joan even retraced
the route to the office by car but couldn't find the teenager.
Charles searched the office unsuccessfully for DeHate's belongings.
At 4 a.m. they left with a sheepish Jay in tow.
Charles, a man of strong, sometimes physical temperament,
blew up at his son when they got home.
"I don't want you giving out the goddamned keys!"
he roared.
"But I told you, I LOST them," Jay insisted.
Charles was disgusted with his son. He told Jay he was going
to cut his pay and keep his house keys. His son would only be
able to get in the Amos house when one of his parents was home.
When Jay went off to bed, Joan told her husband he was too
severe with their son. Charles acceded to her wishes and returned
the keys to Jay before he fell asleep. He also backed off on
reducing his son's pay.
In the morning, Joan and Jay went to church. When they returned
home, about 9 a.m., Charles called the police to report the break-in.
Things calmed down by dinnertime. Charles, Joan and Jay cooked
steaks on the back porch. Jay got up to leave for his daily Alcoholics
Anonymous meeting at 4 p.m. But before he did, he reached over
and hugged his mother.
"It's great to have parents like you," Jay told
Charles and Joan.
When the phone rang at Aanco Underwriters at 2 a.m.
Sunday morning, Jay Amos was surprised only by the identity of
the caller. He had been expecting a call from John DeHate, not
his father.
His father was supposed to be dead.
John DeHate was supposed to have killed him and Joan Amos.
Weeks earlier, Jay had given DeHate a map of Snell Isle and
detailed information on both disarming the household security
system and the layout of the house. He also left his father's
9 mm Walther and a 12-inch carving knife in a trash compactor
in the garage. There was also a pair of socks for Dehate to wear
on his hands when he killed Charles and Joan Amos.
Between his father's second call and his parent's arrival
at the Aanco office, Jay received a call from DeHate. He was
at the 7-Eleven at 38th Avenue North and 1st Street.
"Your father was awake when I got to the house, Jay!
You said he'd be asleep!" complained DeHate.
"He should've been. I don't know why he wasn't."
Jay told DeHate not to come to the office. He had to hang
up because the elevator just stopped and opened at Aanco's third
floor offices.
"I'm gonna take a cab and go home," said DeHate.
"Call me Monday."
Charles Clinton and Joan Marie Amos - each an only
child - met in 1960 in a nightclub in Joan's hometown of Leominster,
Massachusetts. He was 20, serving with the Army Security Agency;
she was 25, a theatrical ice-skating instructor and former national
skating champion. They were married in 1962; Jonathan was born
in January 1963.
Joan gave up skating after the wedding. She stayed home to
raise Jonathan during his formative years, but in 1969 began
working with Charles in the insurance business. She was an astute
businesswoman with a talent for accounting by her husband's description,
his right arm and secretary/treasurer of the company for almost
two decades. She was hard - hard-nosed, hard to get along with
- exacting and precise.
Charles was a self-made man. Born in Tucson, Az. and raised
in New Mexico, he spurned the opportunity to work in his father's
lumber business and studied electrical engineering at the University
of New Mexico. After his stint in the Army, he stayed on in Leominster
with Joan and found work with the Beneficial Finance Co. and
later, with Wausau.
The Amoses went into business for themselves in the late '60s
and bought several a series of small insurance agencies. "Massachusetts
was starting no-fault auto insurance," recalled Charles.
"All the old guys wanted out; I wanted in. Once in a while
you hit timing - THAT was timing."
No-fault insurance was the beginning of a windfall for Charles
and Joan Amos. In 1972, Charles - who hated the snow and cold
weather - sold the company and moved the family to Florida.
Charles contracted Multiple Sclerosis (MS) in 1977. The muscular
disease gradually degenerated his sense of balance and forced
him to rely upon an aluminum walker. Shortly after he was diagnosed,
the family moved into the roomy house at 300 Raphael Blvd. in
St. Petersburg's posh Snell Isle neighborhood just north of downtown.
In the St. Petersburg community, Joan was active, raising
$250,000 over the years for All Children's Hospital, Pinellas
Association for Retarded Children, Florida Orchestra, Ruth Eckerd
Hall and the Cross of Lorraine. (After her death, Charles made
a substantial contribution in her memory to the Gulf Coast Lung
Association and also gave $500,00 to Ruth Eckerd Hall.) Charles
was no wallflower; he spent five years on the Pinellas County
Housing Commission.
Joan had her charities, Charles his collection of antique
Corvettes. Joan was an early riser, throwing open the curtains
at 6 a.m. and declaring, "What a beautiful morning,"
no matter what the actual weather. It was a small irritation
to Charles, who stayed up later and later and stayed in bed long
after his wife was dressed and got on with her day.
Still, he said, "I was very fortunate. In 28 years, I
never saw another woman that I was interested in. None whatsoever."
Jonathan "Jay" Ashley Amos was an outgoing,
smart child - an I.Q. measured at 150 - with blue eyes and brown
hair. He loved to be around people, taking more after his mother
than his father. Charles, by his own description, was "the
clandestine one in the crew."
Mother and father were strict with Jay. "We weren't as
liberal as a lot of parents," conceded Charles.
Jay, who wore big, clunky glasses that hid much of his face,
was no athlete like his father, although their physical resemblance
became more pronounced as the boy matured.
And while he was not a problem child until his teens, even
then he was less rebellious than withdrawn. "Something happened
when Jay turned 13," said Charles. "It was almost like
you rang a bell," according to Charles. "On his 13th
birthday, everybody became dumb, blind, ignorant and stupid to
him. Jay became very secretive. He started staying to himself."
The boy who once brought a trail of friends to his home now
brought no one.
Charles tried to teach Jay to be independent; don't rely on
anyone for anything. In one alleged incident during Jay's youth,
Charles stood behind his son and said, "Fall back in my
arms." Jay did it and Charles let him fall to the ground.
The boy became angry.
"See?" Charles told him. "Don't trust anybody."
Jay received his diploma from Shorecrest Prep and moved to
Gainesville, where he attended the University of Florida for
a year. There was talk of studying business and computer science,
but it didn't pan out and he returned home.
Jay had worked in the Aanco office part-time since he was
a teen, running errands, working in the file room. He started
full-time in 1981 as a receptionist earning $180 a week. As he
learned the serious side of the business and worked his way up,
his salary grew, from $225 a week in 1985 and $400 a week in
'87. His last increase - to $33,500 per year - came in November
'89.
"If I wanted something done and done right, I'd give
it to Jay," said Charles. "He always wanted to be an
insurance agent. He'd been talking about that since he was 10,
11 years old. Never varied. I'd say, 'Jay, study computer science.'
He'd say no. I told Jay, 'Understand one thing: the hardest thing
in the world is to work for your parents.' ... I wanted him to
do insurance, but I never did say it. My dad set up a business
(lumber) for me - I didn't want it. I figured the only way Jay
would come in is if I said I didn't want him."
In addition, Charles had a lucrative financial arrangement
awaiting his only son. Prior to age 21 he was promised $100,000
upon graduating college (he quit after one year), $100,000 upon
marriage (he rarely, if ever, dated), and a 25 percent share
of ownership in Aanco Underwriters at age 30. That offer was
later amended to give Jay a 25 percent stake in the Amos estate
at age 30, another 25 percent each at age 35 and 40 and the balance
when he turned 45.
His father also told him he'd inherit an estate worth $9 million
- including six Pinellas County properties valued by the property
appraiser's office at $1.6 million, $2.2 million in life insurance
on Charles, $2.96 million on Joan - when Charles and Joan died.
Was this a close family?
"My own father's definition of the home," according
to Jay, "is that it was a simple dictatorship: king, queen
and subject."
The police had a file on Jay Amos with multiple entries
long before January 1990. No violent crimes or destruction of
property, just stupid things.
Jay was arrested for breaking into his parents' $260,000 home
in 1983. He planned to steal a few checks and forge Charles'
name. But Joan came home unexpectedly. Jay hid in the closet,
afraid to be caught by his mother. She didn't come upstairs immediately,
however, and Jay fell asleep in the closet. When Joan finally
approached her bedroom she saw tools on a chair and saw the broken
door. Then she noticed three checks had been removed from her
checkbook. She went back downstairs and told Charles, who called
the police.
Charles told the investigating officer that his son was probably
the burglar. Jay had written several bad checks and had taken
money from his father without permission, according to Charles.
Unable to find Jay or any other perpetrator in the house or neighborhood,
the policeman left.
The police got a second call from Charles Amos soon after
and returned to the house. Joan had heard snoring in the bedroom
closet. Charles took a 9 mm revolver and opened the closet door,
finding his son sound asleep on the floor.
Instead of yelling at the boy - then 23 - or even striking
him, Charles trained his gun on Jay, closed the closet and called
the police.
The officer didn't want to press charges, but Charles insisted.
"I want to teach the little bastard a lesson," he said.
"Show him the inside of a jail cell, keep him overnight.
We'll see if he ever tries a stunt like this again."
The officer relented. He read Jay his rights, led him out
of the house in handcuffs and booked him into the St. Petersburg
jail for breaking and entering. Charles didn't bail him out until
the next day.
Jay became well known to the Florida Department of Highway
Safety and Motor Vehicles, acquiring 14 citations in six years
for moving vehicle violations ranging from speeding and driving
under the influence (DUI) to reckless driving and operating a
motor vehicle without a driver's license or tag certification.
His license was suspended a total of nine times - three times
each for DUI, points and failure to pay traffic tickets.
The last time, his driver's license was revoked for 10 years.
Computers provided an escape for Jay. He had 200 games
stored in the Aanco Underwriters computer, but his real entertainment
came from socializing with other lonely dataheads like himself
via on-line computer services such as Meganet, which he could
access by telephone modem.
Meganet users took on "handles" or nicknames much
like Citizen Band radio users do. Jay was known as "Preacher,"
although he sometimes used "Mortician" or "Shadow."
From Jay Amos's on-line autobiography:
Real Name: Jay Amos
Aliases: Preacher
Physical Description: 5'9" Brown Hair Blue Eyes
Favorite Movie: The Godfather
Favorite TV Show: Star Trek
Favorite Foods: Just about anything!
Favorite Sport: Bowling
Other Hobbies/Interests: Sailing, Antique Cars (Restoring/Showing)
Summary: NAMES ARE OFTEN DECEIVING!
Under the name Jay Amos, he had a second Meganet file:
Real Name: Kilroy
Physical Description: If you really need to know ... it's
too late ...
Favorite Movie: Dangerous Liaisons
Favorite TV Show: Monty Python
Favorite Foods: Just about anything
Favorite Sport: Bowling ... Sailing
Other Hobbies/Interests: Gathering information ... for
personal edification ...
General Info: Not Small, VERY little sense of humor ...
Summary: NAMES ARE DECEIVING ... THE SHADOW KNOWS!
Joan Amos would have made the Pharaoh proud, such a slave
driver was she. Even her family acknowledged it at times.
"We used to have a standing joke between one person and
myself in the office," Jay said. "Who was going to
knock her off first?"
At least one employee didn't remember it as a joke. Jay had
asked him, "Do you know any good hit men? For $10,000 I
could have someone bump her off."
By January 1990, Jay had come up from working for his mother
in the accounting department to being her boss as ad hoc office
manager. The change was made partly in response to Jay's hard
work, partly due to a rash of employee turnover. "An attitude
needed to be changed," Jay said of the period. He was made
responsible for hiring and training office staff and it didn't
sit well with Joan.
On December 15, 1989 the Amoses held a family meeting. Charles
told Joan that she was running Jay and the rest of the staff
too hard. "The pressure on (Jay) had to be horrendous,"
said Charles. Jay took two weeks off from work just to get a
break from being around his mother.
Joan herself needed a break, some time off. Charles suggested
she take a breather for the entire months of January and February.
Furthermore, he asked Jay if he could take over Aanco's accounting
responsibilities from Joan for the two months. Jay said yes and
the meeting ended.
The day after Christmas, Jay forged Charles's name on five
company checks worth $11,000. Among them were two checks for
$1,500 each and a gift check for Jay's "girlfriend,"
Judith Schiess, a woman in Bowling, Ky., whom he had talked with
electronically via computer modem but never met. (Jay sent the
money to Schiess by Federal Express.) He planned to cook the
books in January to cover the checks while his mother was away.
But on New Year's Eve, Joan reconsidered her vacation. There
was too much to be done, she told Charles; she would postpone
the rest until March and April.
Jay was panic-stricken. He knew that when the bank statement
came on February 1, his scheme would be revealed and he'd be
fired, kicked out of the house, disgraced.
Since he couldn't do anything to prevent the check from coming
back, he decided to prevent his parents from ever seeing the
discrepancy.
John Albert DeHate hardly knew his father, Richard
DeHate, and was shunned by his paternal grandparents. His mother,
Betty Jean, divorced Richard when John was 14 months old. She
remarried twice, the first when her son was 5, the second when
he was 15. Neither union lasted more than five years.
When DeHate was 15, Betty Jean married Robert Lawrence, a
co-worker at the telephone company. The couple took early retirement
and moved from San Jose, Ca. to Florida in 1985, purchasing Crabbies
Sandwich Shop on John's Pass in Madeira Beach. Business was good
and they opened a second shop on the boardwalk, Sweet Licks Ice
Cream.
The family deteriorated when Lawrence couldn't handle the
3,000-mile separation from the four kids he left behind in California
from his previous marriage. Betty Jean's third husband abruptly
left her and returned to California.
"John had to take my husband's place as far as work responsibilities
go," said Betty Jean. "He became a lot more cynical."
Things didn't get better. DeHate quit Pinellas Park High School,
grieving over the on-campus murder of Dean Richard Allen. There
wasn't enough money to hire help for the family businesses so
mother and son were together 24 hours a day - at home, at work,
at home and at work. It was like being in a bad marriage. Betty
Jean sold Sweet Licks Ice Cream at a loss when she and her son
couldn't manage it and Crabbies. DeHate quit Crabbies and took
a job at a Pick-Kwik convenience store. Within months, in 1988,
Betty Jean lost the sandwich shop.
DeHate drifted in and of several jobs. Not having a car didn't
help. DeHate got a Florida driver's license in 1988 but relied
on buses, cabs, rides from friends, walking and bicycling for
transportation.
To occupy themselves, he and a friend offered a service via
the BBS they called "Anything, Inc."
"A lot of people don't know what that was," said
Betty Jean. "'Anything, Inc.' was - you'd tell them, 'I'd
like a radar detector that does this and this.' And they'd design
it. He would sit down for hours at the sandwich shop drawing
schematics. They were talking designing these things and taking
them to a shop like Honeywell. You sell them your plans and get
a prototype built. It's a far-fetched plan but that's how these
things originated.
"At the trial," she said, "they made it sound
like Murder, Incorporated."
Alison Smith was four years older than her latest boyfriend,
John DeHate. The short, spunky, green-eyed redhead met DeHate
in August '89 the same way they met Jay two months later - via
the Meganet computer bulletin board. Alison was "Cheshire";
DeHate was "DeHate."
DeHate enjoyed telling people on the BBS that "DeHate
- it's not just a name, it's an attitude." From his on-line
autobiographical information:
Real Name: John DeHate
Aliases: nothing polite
City/State: Hell, DeHate style
Physical Description: A boy with dark hair, skin and hazel
eyes ... big enough not to care.
Favorite Movie: sex, lies & videotape
Favorite TV Show: The Movie Channel
Instrument Played: Keyboard, Females
General Info: Been called 'harmless' ... by people who
need to stop being naive.
Summary: Not a very nice person to meet.
"He was 18 when I met him," said Alison. "I
didn't like him at first. He had a tendency to do things to annoy
people. His personality was his bleak sense of humor. John and
I were able to share a lot. He was a real good listener. I was
having problems; a lot of girls on the BBS would call him and
he would listen to their problems."
Both were dreamers; Alison, the member of Wicca, a coven of
white witches; and DeHate, who fantasized of being a computer
programmer, an engineer, a bodyguard or chauffeur. He also daydreamed
about secretly doing "jobs" for people.
There were plenty of things about Alison to attract DeHate.
Both were voracious readers of adult comic books, science fiction
and fantasy; DeHate could consume a book a day. Alison introduced
him to alternative rock music, philosophy and ladies' erotica.
Four years earlier, Alison had been involved with a sociopath
who she said kidnapped and abused her. "This was the guy
who wanted a job as a hit man," she recalled. "He was
a nut case. He seemed to get a kick out of scaring people. John
just liked annoying people."
DeHate told Alison he was in love with her; he even joked
about getting married. "I've had a few affairs, been out
with a lot of guys, and John really stood out," said Alison.
"We were very complementary. Like Yin & Yang, you know?"
Alison moved into her own one-bedroom apartment at Foxbridge
Apartments in Largo. DeHate moved in with her in October 1989
and stayed on and off through the next four months. He was neater
than most guys; his worst habit was changing his socks a few
times a day and leaving the dirty ones all over the apartment.
DeHate and Alison broke up around Thanksgiving 1989, although
DeHate continued living in the apartment. Partly for financial
reasons - DeHate was perpetually broke and between jobs - partly
because DeHate was depressed and had started drinking.
They were still co-habitating in January, drifting in and
out of a relationship.
"John was real nervous the whole month," Alison
said.
Being a good listener on Meganet made a lot of friends
for John DeHate. Jay Amos was another sympathetic ear on the
service, but his anti-alcohol tirades earned him the sobriquet
"Preacher."
When DeHate had problems with Alison, he told them to Jay.
Jay took it all in, even offering advice to his friend. DeHate
was glad to have someone to talk to.
So was Jay.
He was intrigued by DeHate's advertisement on Meganet for
"Anything, Inc. (not a joke)" When Jay asked what Anything,
Inc. had done, DeHate told him his business was mostly burglaries.
That's when Jay knew DeHate would listen to his murder scheme.
Especially if Jay dangled money before his depressed, unemployed
new friend. That's when he knew he had DeHate's attention. DeHate
took him very seriously when they talked money.
Jay offered DeHate $15,000 to kill Charles and Joan Amos:
$5,000 up front, $10,000 when the deed was done.
DeHate was disappointed Jay didn't hire him to work on computers
at Aanco. But he worshipped money. It made him feel like a big
man. Having a wad of bills in his pocket meant power.
The $5,000 Aanco check that Jay Amos forged on January
12 was made out to Alison Smith. The money wasn't a generous
post-Christmas gift; it was a downpayment to pay her boyfriend
for the murder of Jay's mother.
"He flaunted the check all over town," according
to DeHate's mother. "He'd have to be a real moron to do
that."
DeHate told different stories about the money. It was an advance
against his new job as a computer programmer at Aanco. Or, as
he told Bill Lang, he was going to work for Jay Amos's crippled
father as a driver.
The closest DeHate came to telling the truth was when he told
his girlfriend that he was hired by Jay to do a burglary. "The
only thing he didn't tell me was who the people were," said
Alison. He even showed her a diagram of the house Jay Amos had
drawn on a yellow legal pad. "Supposedly, Jay had something
he wanted out of the house," according to Alison, who didn't
know it was Jay's house.
From the time he picked up the check, DeHate enjoyed spending
the money. He withdrew $1,500 in cash and took friends and acquaintances
out to dinner and repaid debts to his mother, girlfriend and
ex-roommates. Alison wrote checks to pay for a $700 TV and VCR
at McDuff, stereo equipment for $698 at Sound Advice and $225
at Service Merchandise for a black, 18-speed Huffy bicycle.
When it came time to earn his money, DeHate failed. After
the furtive run-in with Charles Amos on Sunday morning, he lied
to Alison about what happened at the Amos house. There was no
one home, he told her. What I went for wasn't there.
"He thought it was a set-up," said Alison. "It
was like someone had known he was coming."
DeHate's failure to kill Charles and Joan Amos on Sunday
morning gave Jay second thoughts. He told DeHate he wasn't going
to go through with the plan.
Monday morning he changed his mind again when Joan allegedly
held a 9 mm revolver to Jay's head. It was not the Beretta she
carried in her purse and had supposedly pulled on him the first
week of January but the .357 magnum Charles kept in his bedroom.
According to Jay, his parents were altering the insurance
company's books with regards to workman's compensation clients.
Speaking to Joan in her second-floor bedroom, he told his mother
he planned to leave the company in four months and go out on
his own. If Charles or Joan tried to stop him, he threatened
to reveal the discrepancies. That's when he said she told him
he had a non-compete contract with Aanco and threatened to kill
him.
And Jay said he decided to kill or be killed.
An alternate - perhaps more plausible - explanation for the
scheme being re-started was that early on Monday, Jan. 29, 1990,
Joan discovered $10,000 was missing from one of the company's
Merrill Lynch checking accounts.
There were two specific transfers of which she had no record.
Jay denied knowledge of them so she requested fax copies of the
transfer orders be transmitted to the Aanco office. Merrill Lynch
said it would take two working days to research the request and
transmit the orders. By end of business Tuesday, she'd have the
information.
Jay called DeHate on Monday at 9:30 a.m. from the office after
finding out his mother was on to him.
"I want this done tonight," he said. "Both
of them."
"The only way I can do that is if you help," DeHate
said.
"Fine," Jay said. "I'll call you after work
and set it up."
He knew then that one way or the other, the end was coming.
At 6 p.m., Jay went into his father's office. His parents
were planning to work late. Jay offered to stay and pitch in,
but Charles said it wasn't necessary. This was Jay's second anniversary
with Alcoholics Anonymous and he didn't want his son to miss
the celebration.
Joan and Charles worked until 9 p.m. and went home together.
Joan was in bed and asleep within an hour. Charles stayed up
and watched TV. Jay - who told DeHate to meet him at The Clock
restaurant on 4th Street North at 9:30 p.m. - took a cab from
A.A. to The Clock.
While awaiting DeHate's arrival, Jay called Judith Schiess
in Kentucky from a pay phone. They chatted about their plans
to finally meet in Nashville in February. Jay had even booked
a room for them at the Opryland Hotel under the name "Mr.
and Mrs. J. Amos."
A friend dropped DeHate - wearing blue jeans and a sleeveless
gray hunting vest - and his bicycle at The Clock.
Their business completed at 11 p.m. and the plan set in motion,
DeHate headed for Snell Isle on his bicycle. Jay waited 20 minutes
then took a cab home. He greeted his father in the den, put on
light blue pajamas, a dark blue robe and tan moccasins and joined
Charles in the den to watch a videotape of professional wrestling.
Joan always left the room when wrestling came on, but Charles
and Jay loved it.
At 11:30, Jay said he was going to put the trash out for the
morning pick-up and went out to the garage. Charles dozed off
in his chair.
Thick fog hung over the darkness of Snell Isle like
a dank shroud as John DeHate hid his new 18-speed Huffy bicycle
in some high, brown grass near a creek behind the Sunset Country
Club. He crossed the golf course behind the homes on Raphael
Blvd. and came up behind the Amos house.
Jay let DeHate into the house through the service porch off
the garage and showed him the knife and gun (the same 9 mm Walther
with which his mother threatened him) he had hidden in the trash
compactor on Saturday. DeHate took the knife and put on the socks
he had asked Jay for to avoid powder burns or blood on his hands.
Jay wrapped a brown towel around the gun barrel as DeHate
followed him into the dining room. As soon as DeHate heard the
first shot, he was to go upstairs.
"My mother's in the upstairs bedroom," Jay whispered.
"I'll take care of my father."
Jay re-entered the den at 11:45, his footsteps awakening
his 49-year-old father. Charles thought he was dreaming as his
son pointed a blazing brown towel at him from 10 feet away. Two
shots fired.
"There," said Jay, "that will take care of
both of you."
"What the hell did you do that for?" Charles demanded
to know, clutching his stomach in pain.
Jay didn't answered. He pulled the trigger again but the gun
jammed - exactly the kind of thing that always happened to Jay
under pressure. As he banged the gun on the sofa, Charles reached
into the drawer next to his chair for his gun. In that moment
of anger, he wanted to blow his son away.
"You better get out!" he told Jay. Remembering his
wife, he tried to call her. "Joan! Stay the hell upstairs!"
But his gun was gone - only vaguely did he comprehend it was
his own 9 mm revolver being used to shoot him. Unable to defend
himself, Charles grabbed the telephone and dialed 911.
Upstairs, DeHate quietly pulled down the covers and
climbed into the sleeping woman's bed.
"Jonathan!" she cried out, frightened, thinking
her son was the attacker.
DeHate clamped one hand to Joan Amos's mouth and brought his
knife to her throat with the other. The first cut was tentative,
as DeHate grew his nerve. In a defensive move to block another
attack, Joan drew cuts on her left hand and right wrist and bruises
to her right hand, right wrist, forearms and legs.
The next thrust of the carving knife plunged deep into the
base of the throat and cut a dogleg slightly to the left, slicing
fatty tissue and muscle six inches deep to a point below the
collarbone, severing the internal jugular vein.
Joan was conscious, in agony, when DeHate grabbed her purse
and left, but she passed out within moments. Her blue nightgown
was soaked with blood - so were the bed sheets, carpeting and
a nearby chair. Joan sat upright on the floor, leaning against
her bed, unconscious, but still breathing.
Failing to fix the jammed gun, Jay watched his father
call the police and made no effort to stop him. He was unable
to act as his scheme unraveled before his eyes. His father was
supposed to be dead, not calling the cops. Just like Sunday morning
when DeHate first slipped into the house and Charles was waiting
for him. Just like a hundred other times in his life, his father
wasn't making it easy for Jay
Another problem occurred to Jay.
What to do with DeHate?
The original plan was blown. Joan may be dead upstairs, but
help was on its way for Charles. Even if the old man died, he'd
already fingered Jay to 911 as the trigger man. There was no
getaway plan because only Jay was supposed to survive. DeHate
thought he'd come out of John's bedroom, rough Jay up enough
to look realistic, tie Jay up, rob the house and split on his
bicycle, his duffel bag stuffed with loot. He never realized
Jay was planning to kill him, too.
Jay, in a fit of vengeance, planned to shoot the "intruder"
who killed his dear mother and father. For once in his life,
Jay Amos would be a hero. Plus, he'd be rid of his parents once
and for all. With DeHate dead as well, there would be no loose
ends, no one to jeopardize his inheriting cash, property, the
insurance business and life insurance policies worth $9 million.
But it wasn't working out that way at all.
Leaving his father, Jay climbed the six stairs and yelled
to DeHate, "John, he's called 911! Let's go!"
Jay ran into his bedroom and grabbed some street clothes -
still on their hangers - so he could change out of his pajamas.
Then he ran into his father's bedroom - Charles and Joan slept
in separate bedrooms - and took a set of car keys. DeHate went
downstairs first, leaving blood stains on the handrail at the
top of the stairs as they ran downstairs.
"Come on!" Jay said.
Running through the kitchen and out the door into the
garage was another bad move. DeHate left bloody fingerprints
on the kitchen wall and Jay neglected to shut off the security
system. It blared loudly when the door swung open, waking neighbors
on either side of the house and across the street. Even if his
father hadn't alerted authorities minutes before, they were certainly
on their way now.
Pressing the automatic garage door opener, they threw their
clothes, Joan's purse and other stuff into the backseat. Jay
bypassed the Rolls-Royce and a Chevy Suburban and hopped into
the driver's seat of Charles' '78 steel blue Mercedes-Benz and
roared out into the night to the curious stares of more than
a few aggravated, sleepy neighbors.
Crossing the Howard Frankland Bridge on Interstate 275, DeHate,
quite pleased with himself, said he did his part. Joan Amos was
dead.
That's when Jay informed his hired hand that his gun jammed
and Charles, most likely, was not dead.
DeHate suddenly wished he could kill Jay, the pathetic bastard.
Charles was discovered conscious and in great pain
by the police, still in his den. Joan was in a sea of blood,
barely alive.
She arrived at Bayfront Medical Center in downtown St. Petersburg
with no pulse or blood pressure. Dr. Charles A. Howard pronounced
her dead at 1:10 a.m.
Howard treated Charles for three gunshot wounds to the abdomen
and one to the left arm. Of them, one bullet entered and exited
through a hernia in a protrusion of the abdominal wall; a second
lodged in the upper abdomen; and the third in the left arm. The
doctor said it was possible the three abdominal wounds were caused
by one bullet; after four hours of surgery and in deference to
Charles' other medical problems, Howard elected not to remove
the two bullets he found. Charles remained hospitalized until
Feb. 10.
It wasn't until several days after the incident that Charles
learned someone other than Jay had stabbed Joan to death. But
by then, it didn't matter to him; as far as he was concerned,
he no longer had a son.
The state offered plea bargains to both Jay Amos and
John DeHate, despite what they thought were solid first degree
murder and attempted murder cases. DeHate confessed to St. Petersburg
Police officers upon his arrest, although the confession was
ruled inadmissible. The deal was life in prison without chance
of parole for 25 years for the first-degree murder charge and
a 15-year concurrent term for the attempted first-degree murder
in exchange for admissions of guilt and testimony against the
partner.
Otherwise, the pair faced a certain trip to the electric chair.
Jay accepted the plea on August 23, 1990 and gave a 50-page
deposition describing the crime and implicating John DeHate as
his accomplice.
DeHate, who had no prior police record, declined the plea
bargain agreement.
The decision to go to trial almost killed DeHate.
Evidence clearly drew a path for DeHate from his bicycle,
lock and jacket being found behind the country club to the back
door of the Amos house. A map of St. Petersburg was found among
his belongings with a blue line drawn to Sunset Country Club
where DeHate hid his bike. When he was captured with Jay in Sumter
County less than two hours after the crime, DeHate's windbreaker
and pants had Joan's blood on them. Inside the house, evidence
included mud tracks from the kitchen into the green carpeted
hallway and the six steps leading upstairs to the master bedroom.
More mud was exhibited from the imprint one of DeHate's size
11-1/2 Korean-made Kaepa brand sneakers on a sheet in Joan's
bed.
Jay described the night of January 30 to the court in grave
detail, revealing no emotion. He said that he hired DeHate and
that killing his parents meant "survival" for himself.
He said he felt financially, emotionally and physically abused,
claiming that his father beat his mother and physically abused
both his mother and himself.
After three days of deliberations in January 1991 - almost
a year to the day of the murder of Joan Amos - a Pinellas County
jury needed just two hours to decide the guilt or innocence of
John Albert DeHate.
While the jury was out, a strange thing happened.
Charles Amos, who attended the entire trial with the exception
of his son Jay's testimony, drove the motorized wheelchair he
has needed since being shot toward Betty Jean Lawrence and talked
to her in whispered tones for at least 15 minutes. The two -
stone-faced but distinguished Amos, his salt and pepper hair
immaculately groomed, and chubby, blonde-haired Betty Jean, her
nerves frazzled - were an odd sight.
"He tried to talk to me the night before," said
John DeHate's mother. "But I felt very awkward. It's like
you want to apologize to everybody.
"He wanted to explain some things to me, since I hadn't
been there, about Jay and Joan. It had happened to him and Joan
but he said I was a victim, too, because for all intents and
purposes (my) life is changed, too.
"He told me as far as he was concerned, he didn't have
a son. He told me, 'If I was you, I'd forget I had a son, too,'"
according to Betty Jean. "I said I can't do that. Even if
he were guilty - and I don't think he was - how do I erase 20
years of my life?"
Back in the courtroom, DeHate took a deep breath and held
it as the judge asked jury foreman Todd Llewellyn for the verdict.
The accused exhaled quickly when it was read. The jury unanimously
convicted DeHate of first degree murder and attempted first degree
murder. His shoulders sagged. Betty Jean Lawrence sobbed. Even
DeHate's attorney, Robert Dillinger appeared startled.
DeHate was devastated. He had told his mother he expected
a not guilty verdict.
Sentencing deliberations took an hour. The jury was split
6-6 between death in the electric chair and life in prison with
no chance of parole for 25 years. Judge Richard Luce ruled DeHate
would serve 25 years to life for the first degree murder charge.
And while he insisted there were no "freebies" in his
court, he ordered the 15-year sentence on the attempted first
degree murder be served concurrently. In other words, a freebie.
The only mitigating factors in DeHate's favor were that he had
no previous record and that while DeHate committed the murder,
Jay Amos hatched the plot and received life in prison.
As he was fingerprinted and led out of court, John DeHate
paused to flash the two-fingered salute he learned in Cub Scouts
to his mother.
"He had tears in his eyes when he did that," Betty
Jean Lawrence said. "Ever since he was in school, that's
how he's said goodbye to me."
A $2.9-million-dollar insurance policy pay-out is a
lot of money, even for a wealthy man like Charles Amos. With
his wife dead and his only son in the state penitentiary for
25 years to life, Amos is a widowed 51-year-old man with Multiple
Sclerosis and no heirs.
"I'm the last guy," he said bitterly. "I don't
have anybody to leave it to. It's all going to scholarships and
charities. There will be a lot of kids who get a lot of breaks
they would not have gotten but for one stupid kid. I guess the
world has its own checks and balances system afterall."
This case does not yet have an ending.
John DeHate is appealing his sentence of life in prison.
Jay Amos has accepted his penalty but is not yet through trying
to destroy his father. In August 1990 he began mailing a series
of letters to Florida Insurance Commissioner Tom Gallagher and
the audit departments of several major insurance companies accusing
Charles Amos and Aanco Underwriters of falsifying final audit
reports on worker's compensation and liability policies of its
insureds.
The state was investigating Jay's allegations at press time
and no charges had been formalized or indictments handed down.
"It's a rat's nest," said one prominent Pinellas
County insurance underwriter. "In a case like this, every
time you lift a stone you're going to find a rat. Maybe three
or four."
Events and conversations in this story have been reconstructed
from interviews with the parties and court records. Neither Jonathan
"Jay" Amos nor John Albert DeHate were interviewed
for this story, under advice of their attorneys.
end
©2001,
All rights reserved. No portion may be reproduced without the
express written permission of the author.
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