The Suspicious Death of Cam Lyman (Rhode Island)

Cam Lyman vanished in the summer of 1987, leaving behind a forty-acre estate, dozens of prizewinning dogs, and a silence that would stretch on for more than a decade. 

Friends and family disagreed on whether Cam had walked away or been taken or worse. Meanwhile, millions of dollars in trusts and assets seemed to evaporate. When Cam was finally found, hidden beneath the very ground no one had searched, the mystery didn’t end. It compounded. 

While police spoke in hints about suspects, the only charge ever filed had nothing to do with murder. In this case, every lead seems to circle back to the same question: if you follow the money, will it reveal what happened to Cam, or just uncover another carefully buried secret?

Last Known Contact

In the summer of 1987, 54-year old Cam Lyman’s life followed a rhythm built on discipline, solitude, and devotion – especially to dogs. Cam lived on Collins Road in Hopkinton, Rhode Island, on a secluded 40-acre estate shaped almost entirely around the raising and showing of champion spaniels.

The property itself reflected years of deliberate work. According to reporting by Gerald Carbone for the Providence Journal, after moving from Massachusetts in 1984, Cam undertook major renovations at the Hopkinton property so the land could properly support the dogs. While twenty run kennels were being installed with a nearly half-million dollar price tag, Cam spent six months living in a mobile home parked in a friend’s driveway, waiting for the facilities to be ready.

Most of Cam’s time was spent caring for, training, and developing champion show dogs. It was everything to Cam. But by mid-July of 1987, that carefully maintained life came to an abrupt and unexplained halt.

The exact date varies depending on the source – it was either July 18th, 19th, or 20th – but what happened during Cam’s supposed last phone call has remained consistent.

That day, Cam was on the phone with a close friend, George O’Neil, who managed much of Cam’s life and dealings, especially when it came to the dog competitions. During the conversation, George explained that they’d missed the deadline to register for a dog show in New Brunswick because a mail strike in Canada delayed the paperwork. It may have sounded like a small setback, but it wasn’t. According to George, nothing mattered more to Cam than the dogs and their competitions.

Cam reacted immediately. George recalled that Cam became exceptionally upset, even over the phone, and began to voice that frustration. Then, without warning, the line went dead. The call ended abruptly.

George tried calling back. He dialed again and again. Each time, the phone rang endlessly with no answer.

The following day, George drove to the Hopkinton property to check in. What he found unsettled him. The house was quiet. The phone, the same one that had carried their final conversation, had been ripped from the wall. Some clothing appeared to be missing. So was a bag Cam was known to carry, containing jewelry and photographs of the dogs. As reported by Katie Mulvaney for the Providence Journal, a large amount of cash – possibly as much as $200,000 – was also gone from the house.

But what stayed behind was perhaps the most disturbing detail of all.

All 58 of Cam’s prized dogs were still confined in their kennels, some of them clearly waiting to be fed. Cam’s car sat in the driveway. The mobile home was still parked on the property, untouched, as though its owner might return at any moment. Nothing about the scene suggested a planned departure, yet Cam was nowhere to be found.

Strange as it was, George did not immediately contact the police. In his mind, this disappearance, though confusing and unsettling, was not entirely out of character. Cam was known to vanish for long stretches without explanation. George later recalled a time when Cam left without warning and resurfaced six months later as if nothing had happened. Against that backdrop, George felt that even a ripped-out phone and abandoned dogs didn’t fully register as an emergency. He did not report what he saw to authorities. He didn’t tell Cam’s family either.

In the months that followed, George says he grew less alarmed because he received a series of phone calls from Cam. At least, he and his wife assumed the calls were from Cam but they couldn’t be sure. When answered, no one spoke. Believing their friend was listening, they filled the silence with updates about the dogs – how they were doing, how they were performing at recent competitions. The caller never responded. When George or his wife stopped talking, the line disconnected.

Convinced these calls meant Cam was still out there somewhere, George continued maintaining the Hopkinton property. He cared for the dogs. He managed finances. He waited, expecting Cam to reappear as before.

The first indication to Cam’s family that something might be wrong didn’t come until December of 1987. Every single year, without fail, Cam sent Christmas cards. But that year, none arrived. Friends and relatives noticed immediately. Mailboxes that always held Cam’s familiar handwriting were inexplicably one card short.

Cam’s brother and sisters began asking questions. Had anyone seen Cam? When was the last confirmed, two-way contact? Beyond George’s account of the July phone call and the later wordless calls, no one could say with certainty that Cam was still alive or even reachable.

Richard P. Morin reports for the Boston Globe that one sister, Mary, wrote directly to Cam during this time, hoping the communication would get a response and put their rising concerns at ease. In her letter, she expressed love, care, and acceptance for Cam. Mary sent it via certified mail. When the receipt came back, it wasn’t signed by Cam. It bore George’s signature instead.

By the end of 1987, the Lyman family occupied an uneasy middle ground: suspicious, unsettled, but not convinced that anything irreversible had taken place. Cam Lyman had disappeared before. Cam Lyman could disappear again, and would perhaps return just as quietly.

There were red flags, to be sure – the disconnected phone, mail accepted by someone other than Cam, the unsettling silence where a familiar voice should have been – but distance had long defined Cam’s relationship with family. 

About Cam Lyman

Before Hopkinton, before the kennels and the isolation of the private Rhode Island home closed in by tall stockade fences, Cam Lyman’s life began in a very different setting.

Cam grew up in Westwood, a quiet, affluent town outside Boston. The Lyman family was deeply established and wealthy. Both of Cam’s parents, Arthur L. Lyman and Margaret Rice Lyman, came from well-to-do families, with trust funds that were ultimately passed down to their children including Cam, two sisters, and a brother.

Cam’s father Arthur L. Lyman was a prominent public figure in Massachusetts, serving as both commissioner of corrections and commissioner of conservation. Within the family, he was regarded as a strong and stabilizing presence – a true patriarch. When Arthur died of lung cancer in 1968, Cam struggled profoundly with the loss. According to family accounts, no one was more deeply affected by his death.

Cam’s sisters have said that the period following their father’s death marked a significant shift in Cam’s life. It was after 1968, they said, that Cam began exploring gender identity and expression through clothing and appearance. During this time, their sibling also pursued a formal name change from the one given at birth, choosing the name Cam.

When this case first appeared in newspapers and other sources in the early 1990s, reporting often relied on inconsistent and, at times, insensitive language. For clarity and respect, I’ll only use Cam’s chosen name.

A constant source of pride and passion throughout Cam’s life was always dogs.

Cam’s love for the canine species began early. As a teenager, Cam started showing dogs competitively and quickly proved to be exceptionally skilled. Over the years, Cam competed at the highest levels of the sport, including the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show at Madison Square Garden, often placing near the top of the field.

In 1984, Cam’s 6-year-old Sussex Spaniel, Wilred Duke of Dunham, won a fifth consecutive Best of Breed award. Throughout that dog’s career, the Duke had earned 105 Best of Breed titles in 105 competitions – an unbroken record of wins that spoke volumes about Cam’s dedication, expertise, and reputation in the dog show world.

To those who knew Cam best, the dogs were not just companions or competitors. They were central and defining. And dogs were also how Cam came to meet George O’Neil, reported to be the very last person to ever hear Cam’s voice.

Cam’s story continues on Dark Downeast. Press play to hear the full episode wherever you get your podcasts.