In 1974 Joyce called Charlotte Hendricks, a woman with local criminal connections, and arranged to have her husband killed for $1,500. But the 17-year-old gunman whom Hendricks hired shot Bernard in broad daylight in a hotel parking lot, and the plot quickly unraveled. Joyce was apprehended, pleaded guilty to second-degree murder and received a 15-to-25-year sentence. Still, she doesn't regret the crime. "My life in prison is much better than my life with Bernard," explains Joyce, 45. "Given a choice, I would take this in a minute."
What Joyce does regret, though, is her guilty plea. She believes that a jury hearing her plight would have exonerated her. But even the story of Bernard's brutality has failed for four consecutive years to convince Indiana's Clemency Commission and Gov. Otis Bowen to commute her term. Says Bowen's assistant, William Watt, "The amount of time served on the sentence is not excessive in terms of the offense—murder for hire." Among many supporters, though, DeVillez has become a tragic illustration of the problem of wife beating. Actress Valerie (Rhoda) Harper and her boyfriend, Tony Cacciotti, have bought the rights to the story for a TV movie, with Harper to play the part of Joyce. "It's not a case of justifying murder," Harper says. "The challenge is getting to the issue. Many women in this position wind up dead."
The nightmare journey that led DeVillez to murder began when she was 15 and realized she was pregnant by Bernard, then 21. She says he threatened to kill her if she didn't convince her parents to permit a marriage—and they didn't need much persuading. "In 1951 in Evansville, Ind., you committed social suicide if you didn't marry when you were pregnant," she says. Instead, she committed herself to a life of torture. Says her youngest child, Kirk, now a 21-year-old janitor: "Even though he was beating us all the time, I was mostly afraid he would kill my mother. Me and Kevin [now a 24-year-old factory worker] used to plan how to kill him." Recalls daughter Roxann, a 28-year-old bank employee: "We just weren't allowed any childhood at all. We spent a lot of time as kids protecting each other. He used to say after beating me, 'When are you going to die? You're just like a damn cat. You've got nine lives.' "
Nevertheless, not everybody agrees that Joyce deserves clemency. Police Sgt. Robert Overby arrested her after tape-recording a phone conversation in which she confided: "I should get an Academy Award for my performance at the funeral." Says Overby: "I don't doubt that Bernard knocked her around, but she should have followed the rules society sets down for these situations. I'm used to crusaders. They have their job. I have mine." Still, even Bernard DeVillez' family feels that Joyce is paying for his sins. "I knew Joyce felt threatened and trapped in her marriage," says his sister, Bernadette Burgess, who has appealed on Joyce's behalf to Governor Bowen. Agrees Bernard's brother Roscoe: "She was a very good wife and mother. We are offering our wholehearted support of the release." Judge Morton Newman, who pronounced sentence, says, "I wasn't aware of the extent of the beatings at the time. When I heard about the provocation, I wrote the governor and asked for her release." Governor Bowen must leave office at the end of his second term in January; his successor may reverse him. Otherwise, Joyce will serve at least two more years before she comes up for parole. Whatever happens, she is prepared, knowing that no matter how bad things are, they have been worse. "I am definitely a prisoner, a murderer and a convict," she admits. "But I'm also a victim. I've been in prison all my life."
Saved by the Bell Reunion
The hookups, the meltdowns, the memoires
The case reveals what was really going on what they think of each other now!
