There are many reasons why In Cold Blood has become so ingrained. "The fact that someone from New York like Truman Capote felt compelled to come out all this way to tell the Clutters' story I suppose means it's forever going to be ingrained in people's minds," the sheriff says. Next week Bascue will host a producer from Boston who wants to turn the book into a musical. He spreads out on his office table a set of files relating to the Clutter case, one of which records recent visitors who have come on a sort of In Cold Blood pilgrimage from Italy, Japan and all over the US. Kevin Bascue, the sheriff of Garden City, Holcomb's neighbouring town, is well used to the attention.
IN COLD BLOOD MOVIE
The story of how it came to be written became the 2005 movie Capote, followed by Infamous the following year. It was made into a black-and-white film of the same name in 1967 and there was a colour remake in 1996. In Cold Blood has sold millions of copies and been translated into 30 languages. It is hard to think of any murder case involving six relatively unknown individuals that has captured so many imaginations. It propelled him to household fame and fortune, and in the process ensured that Holcomb was put on the map, and changed forever, in ways that many of the townspeople did not – and still do not – appreciate. The result, six years later, was In Cold Blood. After reading a short newspaper account of the killings, he decided to make the 1,700km journey from his home in New York to Holcomb to chronicle the impact of terrible violence on a small community. "Four shotgun blasts that, all told, ended six human lives." That was how Truman Capote summed up the murders with somewhat greater drama, referring to the four Clutter victims and their two attackers who died later on the gallows. That is a very minimalist way of describing a multiple murder that devastated the town of Holcomb, inspired one of the great books of American 20th-century literature and spawned a stack of Hollywood films on that fateful night exactly 50 years ago this Sunday. Towards the end of the inscription it says that Herb, his wife Bonnie, and two of his four children Nancy and Kenyon, "were killed Novemby intruders who entered their home with the intent of robbery". The plaque carries a lengthy eulogy to the family, recording the many accomplishments of the father, Herb Clutter, and telling us that the family's leisure activities included "entertaining friends, enjoying picnics in the summer and participating in school and church events". A memorial plaque was unveiled there two months ago in honour of the former occupants of River Valley farm: the Clutter family, who lived in that house at the end of the elm drive until one tragic night half a century ago. The explanation for these warnings lies about half a mile away in Holcomb's local park. Private Drive." The warnings seem belligerent for such a peaceful spot. There is a large "stop" sign at the entrance to the road, backed up by a metal barrier and a hand-written poster in red paint proclaiming: "No Trespassing. There's something else not quite right about the setting. The trees are in poor shape though, and desperately in need of pruning their branches, leafless now, protrude at wild angles. The house is famous for the elm trees which line the drive, giving it the tranquil air of a French country lane. You can see its pretty white gabled roof floating above a sea of corn stubble. R iver Valley farm stands at the end of an earth road leading out of Holcomb, a small town on the western edge of Kansas.