What should a reporter do when he gets a murder confession? . . . Here's what I did.
On the 44th anniversary of the contract killing of Oho businessman Dean Milo
Yesterday, August 10, was the 44th anniversary of the murder of Constantine “Dean” Milo.
My second book, The Hunting of Cain: A True Story of Money, Greed, and Fratricide, was published by Atheneum in June 1983. It detailed the events surrounding the police investigation of the Milo murder in which a brother placed a contract on his brother for control of the family-owned, $50-million corporation. While engineering this conspiracy, the brother placed nine people between him and the killer. All eleven co-conspirators were convicted.
As the final prosecution in the case approached, I received a call from one of the convicted co-conspirators who 1) recruited the actual killer, 2) gave him the murder weapon, and 3) then drove him to the scene of the crime. During our conversation, he started to give me a full confession.
Up front, I told him that I would use what he told me in my book. However, he placed a restriction on me, insisting that I not release anything until all his plea-bargain efforts were exhausted.
I agreed to that proviso, and I never violated it. But what followed did provoke a legal reaction, especially after I revealed that I had secretly recorded the confession.
NOTE: A version of this Mobology column originally appeared in an accidental July 2023 mass release of articles while I was still new to Substack and did not understand the process. It was essentially lost in the shuffle.
On January 22, 1982, John Harris was convicted of aggravated murder for his role in the killing of Dean Milo. Unlike some of the others in the conspiracy, Harris never confessed to the prosecution. The trial judge would later sentence him to life in prison with parole a possibility after twenty years.
The following day, Saturday, January 23, Harris, whom I had interviewed on three previous occasions in the Akron jailhouse, telephoned me at my home in Washington, D.C. During our conversation, he began to give me a full confession about his involvement in the murder conspiracy. In doing so, he implicated co-conspirator Frank Piccirilli who, at that time, was still at large and aggressively sought after by the law-enforcement community.
When I realized what Harris was saying, I switched on my tape recorder and memorialized the conversation. By the end of the interview, Harris, who did not know that I had taped him, understood that his confession would be added to the book I was writing, which was set to be released in June 1983.
Then, on April 5, 1983—well over a year after his telephone confession and nearly a month after my book had been shipped to the printer—Harris sent me a letter from the county jail, saying:
The word is out here that you have agreed to turn over to the Summit County prosecutor tapes of the interviews that you had with me; that these tapes supposedly contain damaging information against Frank Piccirilli . . .
I am not sure at this point whether or not I will take the stand in Frank's defense. But I can assure you if I do, it will be the real truth. . . .
When I read the letter, I wasn't too concerned. At that point, I had neither given the tape of our January 1982 conversation to anyone, nor had I discussed Harris's confession with the police and the prosecutor.
Two weeks later, on April 20, I ran into Sergeant Bill Lewis, a deputy in the Summit County Sheriff's Department, in a hallway at the courthouse. Bill, one of the Milo investigators, informed me that Harris was going to testify on Frank Piccirilli's behalf and was prepared to say that Piccirilli had nothing to do with Milo's murder at his upcoming trial.
Upon hearing that, I told Lewis that I had Harris on tape, revealing that Piccirilli was the key man behind the Milo murder plot.
According to my agreement with Harris in January 1982, I had pledged not to use his confession until his attempts to plea bargain with the prosecutor had been exhausted. By this time, Harris's efforts had failed—according to both the prosecutor's office and even Harris. Thus, I had fulfilled my agreement with him and considered his confession to be non‑privileged and non-confidential. Also, as I had told Harris during our taped conversation, his confession would be the centerpiece of the Epilogue of my book, which I still had not shown to either the police or the prosecutor's office. . . . But that was about to change.
The following day, April 21, Bill Lewis called and asked if I would be willing to play the Harris tape for Fred Zuch, the prosecuting attorney in the upcoming trial of Frank Piccirilli, who had been captured, arrested, and was awaiting trial. I replied that I was willing to do so, particularly if Harris was serious about testifying as a defense witness.
Specifically—during our taped conversation in January 1982—I had asked Harris for details about the murder. On tape, Harris told me:
One day, Frank Piccirilli called me up and said he wanted to get together. He owed me $100 or something, I forget. So, we met at this restaurant. . . .
Frank told me he had this guy in Ohio he wanted killed. And he was offering $5,000. So, I said, "Why don't you let me make the money?" He says, "Can you handle it?" I told him I could get it handled. . . . After that, at some bar, I met this guy, Dave Harden.
Capitalizing on this chance meeting with Harden, Harris offered him $2,000 to commit the actual murder. Because Harden was desperate for money, he accepted.
Driving a borrowed car, Harris and Harden arrived in Cleveland in early August and spent several nights hotel hopping and partying. "Harden was driving me crazy," Harris added during our taped conversation. "He was so goddamn nervous. And all he wanted to do was get drunk, get high, and get pussy."
Throughout this period, Harris told me that he stayed in constant touch with Piccirilli.
Then, early Sunday morning, August 10, 1980, they heard that Milo had returned from a business trip and was at his home in Bath, Ohio, a suburb of Akron. They cased the executive's house and left but then returned shortly thereafter. This time, Harden, with a gun in his hand that he received from Harris, went to Milo's door, posing as a Western Union delivery man.
"Who gave you the gun?" I asked Harris.
"The gun? Frank Piccirilli. Frank gave it to me—a .32 automatic, with a homemade silencer."
Later at the crime scene, police detectives could not figure out the source of the cotton particles on Milo's neck and back in and around one of the entrance wounds, as well as another wad of cotton in his mouth. As it turned out, that homemade silencer—a steel pipe, stuffed with cotton—had initially thrown off the investigation.
With the first shot, all the cotton blew out of the silencer, according to Harden’s subsequent statement to the prosecution team. To muffle the second shot, he grabbed a cushion from a chair in the living room, pressed his gun against it, and fired.
On May 2, 1983, realizing that I was going to catch hell, I played the Harris tape for Fred Zuch. Immediately, the prosecutor told me that he was required by law to disclose its existence to Piccirilli's attorney.
Two weeks later, on May 16, the jury for the aggravated murder trial, State of Ohio v. Piccirilli, was selected. Just prior to opening arguments, Piccirilli's defense attorney, Paul Collins, recognized me sitting in the back of the courtroom. He walked up and asked, "Are you Dan Moldea?"
"Yes, I am," I replied as I stood up, thinking he wanted to shake hands.
As I extended my hand, he slapped a piece of paper in it, saying angrily, "This is for you!"
When I unfolded the paper, I saw that it was a subpoena.
Specifically, it demanded that I supply the defense with a "copy of [the] book involving Milo case you are writing, records and tapes of interviews, records of any statements given you by any police officer or prosecutor."
A few minutes after I was served, Collins asked Frank Bayer, the trial judge, to order me out of the courtroom because I was a potential witness. The judge agreed, also instructing me to appear at a hearing the following morning.
That same afternoon, I called attorney George Farris, one of my closest and most trusted friends since our days in college and asked him to represent me at the hearing.
The next morning, during the hearing to consider the merits of the subpoena, Farris charged that the defense was on nothing more than a fishing expedition. After a lengthy debate, Judge Bayer asked defense-attorney Collins to be more specific with his request for information and scheduled another hearing for the following day.
At the second hearing on Wednesday, Piccirilli's defense team demanded that I reveal my confidential sources and the contents of the Harris tape. In addition, they asked that I be placed under oath to answer specific questions.
Farris objected, but Judge Bayer insisted that I take the oath. When I balked, he threatened to find me in contempt and to order me imprisoned immediately. Farris then asked for a recess, so that he and I could speak in private.
To me, there was really nothing to discuss. Knowing that my book would be out in a few weeks, I was prepared to surrender and give the defense attorneys anything they wanted, except my confidential sources—since everything else was in my book.
Another trusted friend who had joined our conversation pleaded with me to hang tough and go to jail. "Think of the publicity for your book!" He exclaimed.
"Listen," I told Farris and my other friend, "you guys know that my dad is dying. There is just no way that I have any time to go to jail. Under normal circumstances, no problem—but not with Dad in trouble! Tell the judge that I'll give them the tape and even take the oath to answer questions about Harris's confession. Give them anything but my sources."
Overruling me, Farris, a fine attorney whom I trusted totally, wanted to take the hardline, insisting, "If the defense gets you on the stand, they're going to ask you about your confidential sources. And when you refuse to answer, you're going to be right back where you started, and you could still wind up in jail. . . . Trust me, I can work this out."
Relenting, I went along with Farris, and he proved to be right.
When we returned to the hearing, Farris offered Piccirilli's attorneys the opportunity to listen to Harris's soon‑to‑be‑published taped confession in which he had implicated Piccirilli in the Milo murder. However, Farris politely insisted that I not be forced to reveal any sources or to answer any questions, tactfully predicting a monumental First Amendment battle if his offer was rejected.
Persuaded by Judge Bayer, the defense agreed to Farris’s offer. We allowed Piccirilli's defense team to hear the recording at 4:00 that afternoon.
Of course, after listening to the tape, the defense immediately dropped Harris from its witness list.
Then, on May 25, the jury convictIed Piccirilli of aggravated murder. Soon after, Judge Bayer sentenced him to life in prison.
NOTE: William C. Dear, a Texas-based private investigator who was retained by Dean Milo’s widow, worked with the Summit County Sheriff’s Office, and played an important role in the murder investigation died on July 5, 2024.
I can't wait to read this one! This incident appears to reveal the "guts" and the calculated chances Dan went through to get to the TRUTH! Wow.
Great book from a great author.