Poisoned Dreams Read online

  It may have been David Bagwell’s idea that because of his interest in the partnership equity account, he was entitled to the money from the Westchester development, but Tramell Crow certainly didn’t agree. He immediately called for an in-house investigation of the matter, and the first employee questioned was Bagwell’s former assistant, Kathleen Cunningham. Though obviously nervous and upset, Kathleen didn’t hesitate. She said that she’d noticed the transfers herself, but because Bagwell had been her boss, she hadn’t felt it her place to bring the matter up to anyone. Kathleen’s story did corroborate what Nancy was saying, though, and that was enough for Tramell Crow. Within days, Crow attorneys were hot on the trail. After months of preparation the company sued David Bagwell, alleging fraud and misappropriation of funds. Both Nancy Lyon and Kathleen Cunningham were named in the suit as plaintiff’s witnesses. It is interesting to note that Crow made no attempt to press criminal charges, which gives some credence to the theory that Bagwell may have been entitled to the money to begin with as compensation for his partnership equity.

  Now, in addition to her duties as partner-in-charge of the Westchester development, Nancy found herself at the disposal of a gang of company lawyers. There were depositions to give, written statements to prepare, and a seemingly endless string of witness-rehearsal sessions. Her involvement in the Crow-Bagwell lawsuit was a real eye-opener for her; she learned very quickly that the facts in a lawsuit were not nearly as important as the manner in which the case was presented in the courtroom. She told Richard that she felt at times as though the Crow lawyers were putting words in her mouth, and she was having real bouts with her conscience over the entire matter. Additionally, she was having physical problems. As she gained weight by leaps and bounds due to her pregnancy, she found it harder and harder to work. The fall and winter of 1988 were not pleasant times for Nancy Lyon. So involved did she become in her work and in preparation for trial of the lawsuit, she didn’t take maternity leave until she was a week from term, in early January 1989.

  Anna Lyon bubbled and cooed into the world at Presbyterian Hospital. The vaginal delivery was normal and without complications. Mother and daughter alike did fine, and for a brief period there was once again time for rejoicing in the Lyon and Dillard homes. Big Daddy seemed even more enchanted by his two granddaughters than the children’s parents; the veteran of hard-nosed corporate wars had become a doting and devoted grandfather.

  Torn between her duty as a mother and her obligation to the Tramell Crow Companies, Nancy cut short her maternity leave and was back on the job when Anna was only two weeks old. Anna was to spend her first year of life more in Lynn Pease’s care than that of her natural parents; Richard was traveling a great deal while Nancy spent ten-to-twelve-hour days at the office, both in running the subdivision and preparing herself to testify against David Bagwell. The trial of the lawsuit was scheduled for early the following year.

  Mark October 16, 1989, as the date that Nancy Lyon’s feeling of dislike and distrust for David Bagwell turned into fear. October 16 was the day that Nancy Lyon in Grand Prairie and Kathleen Cunningham in Tramell Crow’s North Dallas offices received identical letters. The letters were in plain business envelopes—a later examination wouldn’t turn up a single fingerprint on the envelopes’ surfaces—and came hand-delivered via messenger service. Both letters were typed on plain twenty-pound bond copy paper, and the messages were identical: “Stay out of the Bagwell case or suffer the wrath of God.”

  At first Nancy thought that someone was playing a joke on her. There had been a few remarks around the office, made in jest, about the lawsuit and Nancy’s upcoming testimony. David Bagwell hadn’t been an altogether popular man among the employees at Westchester, and there were some who were secretly tickled to death over his current difficulties. Certain that the letter was a prank, Nancy asked around, but after her questioning of the other employees she realized that no one in the office knew anything about the threat’s origin. She looked helplessly at the piece of paper in her hand as a chill spread through her body.

  Whether or not David Bagwell had anything to do with the threats, Nancy clearly believed that the ominous letters were her former boss’ doing. Both she and Kathleen turned the envelopes, along with their contents, over to their superiors with Tramell Crow, who conducted their own investigation without turning up anything concrete to tie Bagwell to the delivery of the letters. The messenger service had received the order anonymously. David Bagwell himself has made no public comment one way or the other, though he said after Nancy’s death that he had nothing but respect for her. Since the lawsuit was eventually settled without going to trial, the only testimony regarding the threats to Nancy and Kathleen came while Richard faced murder charges. Like many things having to do with the death of Nancy Lyon, the origin of the strange letters remains shrouded in mystery.

  For Nancy’s part, the threat only magnified the problems she already had in her personal life. In recent months she’d had things on her mind that shoved David Bagwell, the threatening letter, and the Crow Companies’ lawsuit far into the background. The events leading up to her death had already begun, and would soon develop into a fast, furious, and lethal parade.

  14

  The years immediately following Nancy’s marriage to Richard didn’t go well for Bill Jr. at all. During the seventies, the real estate market had been such that dealers in land made money hand over fist regardless of whether they were prudent in business or not, but the first half of the eighties brought an unforeseen and inexplicable downturn. Suddenly the solid-for-centuries advice for young men to invest what they could in land no longer held water. By 1985 no one in the real estate game was making money. Everyone bled.

  The survivors were those who had socked money away during the gold rush, but Bill Jr. didn’t fit in that category. As one after another of his ventures went sour, he had to turn again and again to Big Daddy for help. But Big Daddy’s reserves, once thought bottomless by the elder Dillard son, had eroded as well. Loans defaulted. Process servers bearing lawsuit notices came by.

  For a number of years Bill Jr. had been in the denial stage of his addiction, and as his financial picture worsened, he drank more and more. Deep in his cups almost every night, he became resentful, belligerent, and nasty. More than once over dinner—following a string of pre-meal toddies, of course—he berated those around him to the point that he lost many friends. On the night before his baby brother died, Bill Jr. very nearly lost the support of his entire family.

  Tom Dillard’s hopeless battle with brain cancer ended in 1985. Of all the Dillard kids, he was the best liked by his peers. He was a considerate and loving son to his mother and father, and during the final year of his life he maintained his cheery attitude in spite of his condition. Radiation treatment slowed the tumor’s growth, bringing temporary dreams of victory, but the radiation eventually failed, and equally as futile was the chemotherapy. Finally it was apparent that Tom had lost the battle. Eventually he drifted into a coma. All hope lost, the Dillards gathered at Big Daddy’s house and waited for Tom to die.

  Susan and her husband drove down from Wichita Falls, and Nancy and Richard came directly to the Rheims Place house after work. Mary Helen, Bill Jr.’s wife, was already there, sitting alongside Sue. She’d already called Bill Jr.’s office and left word that he was to come to his father’s immediately. Throughout the evening, Nancy, Mary Helen, and Sue took turns trying to reach Bill Jr. Their efforts were in vain.

  It was midnight when he finally arrived, drunk as a lord. He was staggering. His fly was open and there were urine stains on the front of his pants. When he entered the house and looked groggily around at the rest of his family, both Mary Helen and Sue burst into tears. Big Daddy glared at his elder son, then lowered his head and left the room.

  Not even his brother’s death slowed Bill Jr.’s addiction, and during the years immediately following Tom’s death, Bill Jr.’s behavior became even more
erratic. Friends approached Nancy in confidence and wondered why Mary Helen didn’t file for divorce. Nancy was often ashamed of her brother during the height of his drinking, and wondered herself why Mary Helen continued to put up with her husband. Mary Helen, though, had a deeper understanding of addiction than all of the Dillard clan combined. She secretly attended Al-Anon meetings and prayed that one day the man she had loved and married would come to himself. The turning point for Bill Jr. came in the early spring of 1989.

  The addict is always the last to recognize rock bottom, and Bill Jr. was no exception to the pattern. He felt that everyone around him was exaggerating his behavior; often he’d been so drunk the night before that he didn’t remember the things he’d done that alienated even those who cared the most for him. During the early months of 1989 he had a number of blackouts. More than once he woke in the morning with no recollection of where he’d been the night before, and without the slightest idea how he’d driven home. One May morning his car was parked in his own front yard. At long last his drinking and compulsive drug use began to frighten him.

  Finally, shaky but sober, he approached Big Daddy. He told his father that he couldn’t stop drinking on his own, and that if he didn’t get help he would lose his family, his sanity, and likely his life. Big Daddy listened with a glimmer of hope for his son; this wasn’t the first time that Bill Jr. had vowed to change, but on this occasion he seemed sincere. Finally Big Daddy offered Bill Jr. a choice: he could get help or be forever cut off from his wife, his friends, his sisters, his mother and dad. Bill Jr. bowed his head. He told his father that if he could be free from drink and drugs, he was willing to try anything.

  The discerning addict has a number of choices, depending on available funds, though a lifetime of defeat in the battle with drugs and alcohol has left most penniless. Indigent drunks are thus dependent on Alcoholics Anonymous, which supports itself on dollar-here, quarter-there donations from its members, and continues to have the highest rate of recovery among all of the cures. Charter Hospital services middle-class Dallas area jug and cocaine heads for a fee of around $10,000; for the money, the desperate addict receives a bed, meals, and round-the-clock orderly service, and in addition to the identical program that Alcoholics Anonymous provides at no charge receives withdrawal-assistance drugs. The practice of substituting one drug for another has come under criticism.

  Just why the free AA sessions show the most success is an interesting study. One wealthy resident of Fort Worth, off the bottle for going on nine years, thinks he has the answer. “I’ve tried ’em all,” he says. “You go someplace and pay through the nose, you’ve got trouble going in. All the drunks in these high-dollar places, they think just because they’re paying all this money, somebody’s going to do something magic to make ’em quit. It doesn’t work that way. People going to AA, they’re really wanting help. If you don’t have the desire, no amount of cash is going to save you.”

  When money is no object, the addict’s options broaden. Just as there are “in” places to live, and “in” places to vacation, there are “in” places to dry out as well. Park Citizens whose fingers tremble at the sight of a bottle of Chivas or Johnny Walker Black are familiar with the pecking order: Betty Ford Clinic is all right for those hoping to meet a movie personality or rock star on the mend, but in recent years is considered rather gauche; Timberlawn has been “in” for years but, since it’s right there in Dallas, poses optimum risk of discovery. So, for wealthy addicts wanting comfortable surroundings, contact with the crème de la crème among the drunken set, and the utmost in discretion, there’s only one place to take the cure. Period. Sierra Tucson is the cutting edge.

  Sierra Tucson’s name belies the true nature of the institution. So do the surroundings, a breathtaking stretch of Arizona desert with a rugged, canyon-gashed mountain range as a stunning backdrop. The low-slung, Indian-style adobe building, fronted by a circular drive with a huge cactus sprouting from its center island, looks more like an upscale dude ranch than an addiction-recovery center. Even the address, on Lago del Oro Parkway a half-hour drive from downtown Tucson, reeks of exclusivity.

  Within the Sierra Tucson compound, patients live the good life. Each resident, shortly after arrival, meets with his or her own personal dietician to plan individually customized meals that not only provide the proper vitamin and calorie intake, but are tailored to the patient’s taste buds as well. Inside the building are both group and intimate dining facilities, along with a workout room featuring treadmills, stair-climbers, and the most up-to-date weight-lifting equipment known to man. There is a heated pool and bubbling hot tub. The nearest liquor store is forty miles away.

  The mountain air is crisp and invigorating. Group therapy sessions take place in natural amphitheaters on rugged hillsides. The institution has its own riding stable; for those who wish to participate, there are morning and evening horseback trots over meadow and mountain. His attitude better than it had been in years, his jaw set in determination, Bill Jr. checked into Sierra Tucson during the middle of April.

  Family participation is part and parcel of addict recovery. If the alcoholic or drug user’s treatment is to have any chance of success, the support and understanding of loved ones is a must. Once the addict is on the road back, wives, children, parents, and siblings must know not only the possibility of future relapses, but how to deal with them. Ranting at or lecturing the addict only causes more problems; sternly pouring the liquor down the drain only makes the alcoholic drink in secret. Also important is a basic knowledge of the factors that contribute to the addiction to begin with—and the factors are varied and numerous, some physical, others mental—and methods for dealing with the family’s own frustrations. To aid in recovery, Alcoholics Anonymous holds separate Al-Anon meetings for families of members. Sierra Tucson does things differently, inviting the loved ones up for a few days of rest, relaxation, and individual counseling while the addict prepares to return to the world where the troubles began.

  The Sierra Tucson family gathering that launched Nancy Lyon on her journey to meet the Grim Reaper took place over a five-day period encompassing Memorial Day of 1989. Big Daddy and Sue accompanied Mary Helen to Tucson to be with her husband. Nancy and Richard came separately, and brought the new baby along. Anna was five months old. Allison stayed in Dallas under Lynn Pease’s care. Susan Dillard Hendrickson and her husband, Billy, were the last to come, Billy’s orthodontics practice having caused a late departure from Wichita Falls. On arrival at the institution, the entire clan hugged and encouraged Bill Jr., and all agreed that he looked marvelous. His eyes were clear, his complexion good. Time in the workout room had trimmed and firmed his body.

  Their first night together, the group went into Tucson and had dinner. Relaxed and gaining confidence, Bill Jr. gave his family a blow-by-blow description of his treatment. He seemed excited over his recovery chances, even though he realized that the acid test was going to come once he returned to Dallas and tried to function away from the sterile environment at Sierra Tucson. Big Daddy and Mary Helen asked many questions.

  Nancy was silent during the meal. She’d been thinking of many things of late. She had done her own private research on addiction and codependency, and she had some ideas. The following day she would bring up her thoughts during counseling sessions.

  “If I understand this correctly,” Nancy said, “things we bring up in these sessions, if we get them out in the open, talking these things over is going to help him understand his problem.”

  “Almost, but not entirely right,” the counselor said. “The recovery process involves not only the patient, but those closest to him. Addiction affects the entire family unit, not just the one individual. So it’s not really proper to say that our sessions will help Bill alone; the entire family unit has to recover along with him.”

  The counselor spoke in an even, pleasant tone. It is part of the psychologist’s function to be a sounding board, a sympat
hetic ear, a calm presence in the face of all emotional outbursts. The couple now in for their private session were well dressed and obviously well educated. The young man who sat beside the woman on the counselor’s sofa was dark and handsome and wore a thin, perfectly trimmed mustache. He seemed uncomfortable, perhaps even a bit skeptical about the whole proceeding. His attitude wasn’t unusual. The pretty, dark-haired young woman showed more concern; she would be directly related to the patient while the man would be an in-law. The counselor confirmed the relationship with a quick glance at the file. The lady was the patient’s sister, the man the lady’s husband. Visible through the window behind the counselor’s desk, desert terrain rolled off into the distance to warm the feet of rugged, snow-capped mountains. The counselor bent forward over the low coffee table and waited for the young woman to speak.

  “Well, if it’s for the whole family,” Nancy said, “shouldn’t they all be here?”

  The counselor touched manicured fingertips together and regarded Nancy. “All in good time. The private sessions, often one feels more comfortable discussing certain things away from others. There’ll be a group session later on, sort of a buzz session. Whatever you want to bring up then is up to you. Now, too. You don’t have to discuss anything in this session unless you want.”

  Nancy lowered her gaze, then shot a quick, nervous, sideways glance toward Richard. “I want,” she said.

  The counselor rested chin on interlocked fingers, not saying anything. It was time to let the subject do the talking, let her innermost feelings pour out.

  “It’s so hard,” Nancy said. “Is it always this hard?”

  “Do you feel that it’s difficult?” The counselor answered the question with a question, being careful to suggest nothing that might alter the subject’s train of thought.