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- [00:02]
Katie Ring
Hi, listeners, it's Vanessa. Before we get into today's episode, I want to tell you about another show I think you'll love. Hidden History with Dr. Harini Bhatt. Every Monday, Dr. Bhatt goes where history gets mysterious. Vanished civilizations, doomsday prophecies, paranormal phenomena and events that science still can't fully explain. Dr. Bot treats these moments like open case files. Not myth myths, not superstition. Just incomplete explanations waiting for a closer look. Hidden History drops every Monday. Follow now on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, or wherever you listen, so you never miss a mystery. This is Crime House. Some crimes devastate a community, some reach the entire country, and others reshape how we think about crime itself. The murder of the Clatter family is one of those cases. What happened that night didn't just destroy one family. It shattered an entire community's sense of safety. People in Holcomb, Kansas, had never locked their doors. But after November 15, 1959, they never left a door unlocked again. And people all over the country followed their lead. Today, I'm going back to the beginning. Who the Clutters really were, the peaceful life they built in western Kansas, and the morning everything fell apart. Because to understand why this crime still haunts us more than six decades later, you first have to understand exactly what was lost. Every crime tells a story. The people involved, the system that tried to stop it, and the nation that couldn't look away. Some cases are so shocking, so deeply woven into who we are, that decades later, we're still asking, how did this happen? I'm Katie Ring, and this is America's Most Infamous Crimes. Every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, I'll take you deep into cases that have a lasting imprint on society and still haunt us today. I want to thank you for being part of the Crime House community. Please rate, review and follow America's Most Infamous Crimes wherever you get your podcasts and to get all episodes at once ad free. Subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. Before I get started, please be advised that this episode contains descriptions of murder and violence. So please listen with care. This is the first of our three episode series on the Clutter family murders. Today, I'll tell you about the Clutter family and the quiet life they built in Holcombe, Kansas. Then I'll walk you through the terrible morning their friends and neighbors discovered what happened to them and how a community that had never known fear suddenly couldn't escape it.
- [02:59]
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- [03:29]
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- [04:06]
Katie Ring
before we talk about what happened to the Clutter family, I think it's important to really understand who they were. Because this isn't just a story about a crime. It's a story about a family that represented something to the people around them. And when that family was taken away, the loss went far beyond four lives. So let's start with the man at the center of it all, Herbert William Clutter. Herb Clutter was 48 years old in November of 1959. He was a farmer, a father, and one of the most respected men in all of western Kansas. He ran a place called River Valley Farm just outside of Holcomb, a small town with a population of about 270 people. And river Valley Farm was something truly special. Picture vast fields of wheat stretching out in every direction, horses and cattle grazing on green pastures, and a grove of fruit trees that Herb kept in perfect condition. In the center of it all was a big, sturdy farmhouse home. And this property wasn't a family heirloom. Herb built everything he had through sheer hard work and discipline. On top of all of his hard work, the man never touched a drop of alcohol in his life, and he expected the same from anyone who worked for him. If you were employed on Herb Klutter's farm, you didn't drink. Period. That might sound strict, but people respected it because Herb led by example. He wasn't the type to ask anything of someone that he wasn't willing to do himself. Beyond the farm, Herb was deeply involved in his community. He'd been active in local politics and had recently led the effort to build a new Methodist church in town. He also served on the Federal Farm Credit Board and was the kind of guy that people turned to when they needed advice, help, or just someone to listen. In a town as small as Holcomb, where everybody knew everybody, Herb Clutter was the person everyone trusted the most. And here's the thing about Herb. He was principled, sure, but he wasn't cold or distant. By all accounts, he was generous with his time and his resources. He was known for giving his employees advances on their pay if they were having a tough week, and helping neighbors out with their own farming problems without being asked. In a community that probably wouldn't throw around a word like beloved, it was clear that's exactly what he was. Now, Herb's wife, Bonnie, had her own story. She was the only daughter of a successful wheat farmer, so she understood farm life from the very beginning. But as a young woman, Bonnie had big dreams. She wanted to go into nursing because she had grown up admiring Florence Nightingale and wanted to follow in her footsteps. So she enrolled in nursing school. But after two years of dealing with the difficult realities of hospital work, Bonnie decided it wasn't for her and dropped out. Shortly after that, she married Herb. They'd been connected through Bonnie's older brother, who was Herb's classmate. And even though Herb didn't come from the same kind of money that Bonnie did, she saw something in him. He had plans, ambition, and wanted to build a farm and a family that he could be proud of. It was everything Bonnie was looking for. And by all accounts, their marriage was a good one. But it also came with real challenges. After the birth of their first daughter, Ivana, in 1936, something shifted in Bonnie. A kind of sadness settled over her that she just couldn't shake. These days, doctors would most likely diagnose her with postpartum depression, But a diagnosis like this didn't even exist back then. The term postpartum depression wouldn't even be officially coined by the psychiatric community for nearly 60 years. So Bonnie didn't get the kind of help she needed. She went to clinics and visited treatment centers, but nothing seemed to make a lasting difference. And with each new baby, it got a little worse. After their youngest, Kenyon, was born in 1944, the sadness lingered. It became part of Bonnie's life. There were good days and bad days, but the fog never fully lifted. It's important to mention this because I think it explains a lot about how the Clutter household actually worked day to day and the role that their teenage daughter Nancy ended up playing in the family. Honestly, when you learn about this girl, it's hard not to be amazed by her. Nancy Clutter was 16 years old, and she was one of those people who just lit up every room she walked into. She was a straight A student, president of her class, was active in 4H, and in her church was an actress, a musician, and she'd won awards for her baking, including a cherry pie that was apparently legendary around town. But what really set Nancy apart wasn't just the list of accomplishments. It was the way she treated people. She was constantly making time for others, whether it was younger kids in the community who looked up to her or her own family members who needed her help. On the morning of November 14, 1959, the day before the murders, Nancy spent part of her morning teaching a 13 year old girl named Jolene Katz and how to bake one of her famous cherry pies. On top of all of this, with Bonnie often struggling with her depression, a huge amount of the responsibility for running the household fell squarely on Nancy's shoulders. She handled errands for her mom, helped manage the house, and still found time for her own life and her own ambitions. Because Nancy had big plans. She wanted to go to Kansas State University and study art with her best friend, Susan Kidwell. She had her whole future mapped out. But for now, In November of 1959, she was exactly where she needed to be. At home, being helpful, being generous, being the person everyone in Holcomb knew her to be. Nancy's little brother, Kenyon, was a totally different kind of kid. Where Nancy was social, outgoing and involved in everything, Kenyon was quiet and a bit of a loner. In November of 1959, he was 15 years old and already taller than anyone else in his family. He liked to hunt, enjoyed woodworking, and he spent a lot of his free time tinkering with an old truck that his father had let him buy when he was just 11. Kenyon wasn't the type to seek attention. He was more comfortable working with his hands than working a crowd. But he had a gentle way about him. On the last afternoon, he was out working on a flower bed that Bonnie liked to keep outside of her bedroom window, just doing something nice for her. While Kenyon was working, Nancy came riding up on her horse, Babe. The family dog, Teddy, and Nancy's cat, Evinrude, joined the kids. A family friend named Paul Helm, who was married to the Clutter's housekeeper, was also there that afternoon. He'd later recall listening to Kenyon and Nancy talk about their older sister's upcoming visit, about Thanksgiving plans, and about Kenyon's horse, Skeeter, who died a year earlier. Kenyon was still grieving that horse in his own quiet way. As the light started to fade, Paul Helm said his goodbyes and headed back to his home about a half mile away. As he walked off, he looked back over his shoulder at the kids. But little did he know it would be the last time he would ever see them alive.
- [11:23]
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- [11:55]
Katie Ring
you want to sneak past the crime scene tape to explore the key evidence behind some of the most gripping true crime cases? I'm Morgan Absher. And I'm Kaylan Moore and we'd love for you to check out our new show Clues. Each Wednesday, I piece together the timelines and break down the hard facts, digging into forensic details, investigative techniques, and everything that led to justice or didn't. And while Caelyn dives into the facts, I'm pulling out the threads, digging through the Internet theories and looking at the details that may or may not add up. From serial killers to shocking cold cases, we shine a light on the stories that have been waiting so sometimes for decades, to finally be heard. So join us as we uncover the breakthroughs, the heartbreak, and the relentless pursuit of answers behind the world's most unforgettable investigations. Come open a case file with us every Wednesday and listen to clues wherever you get your podcasts.
- [12:51]
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- [13:26]
Katie Ring
Now I should mention that the Cluttr family wasn't just her, Bonnie, Nancy, and Kenyon. There were actually six Clutters in total, but the two oldest daughters had already moved out and were building lives of their own. Evanna, the eldest, was 23 and married with a baby son, and the second daughter, Beverly, was 20 and engaged to be married. So on the night of November 14, 1959, only four members of the family were home in the farmhouse. That Saturday had gotten off to a slow start in the Clutter household, and for good reason. The night before, Nancy had been out late celebrating a starring role in her high school play. She didn't get home until almost 2 in the morning, and Herb had waited up for her. He wasn't thrilled to see her being walked to the door by her boyfriend, Bobby Rupp, a local basketball star. But beyond a stern talking to, nothing really came of it. It just meant that both Herb and Nancy slept in a little later than usual the next morning. The rest of that Saturday passed the way Saturdays usually did for the Clutters. Nancy baked with Jolene Katz, Kenyon worked on the flower bed, and Herb handled some business around the farm. That evening, Bobby Rupp came over to watch TV with Nancy and left around 11 o', clock, and the house became quiet. Bobby Rupp would later tell investigators that when he left that night, everything seemed completely normal. The family was getting ready for bed, and although the doors were unlocked and there was nothing to suggest that anything was wrong because they always left them unlocked. But something very wrong had happened. On the morning of Sunday, November 15, 1959, a local beet farmer named Clarence Ewell was doing what he did every Sunday. He drove his daughter, also named Nancy, over to River Valley Farm so she could ride into Garden City with the Clutters for church. But this morning, when Nancy Ewalt went up to the Clutter's front door and rang the bell, nobody answered. She tried another door, then another, then the kitchen, but nothing. No one came. The house was completely silent. Now this was strange. The Clutters were not the kind of family to just disappear without telling anyone. The Ewalts also noticed that both of the family's cars were still parked in the garage. Even the old truck Kenyon liked to tinker with was still there. If the family had gone somewhere, how did they leave and why hadn't they told anyone? Before jumping to conclusions, the Ewalds decided to check in with Susan Kidwell, Nancy Clutter's best friend. Susan also rode with the family to church on Sundays, so if anyone had heard from the Clutters, it would be her. But Susan was just as confused. It wasn't like her best friend to go quiet like this. She picked up the phone and called River Valley Farm. The phone rang and. And rang and rang, but no one answered. At this point, Susan, Nancy Ewall, and Clarence were genuinely worried. They decided to drive back to the Clutter farm and actually go inside to check on the family. Clarence was still in his messy work clothes, so it was decided that the two girls would go in on their own. Susan and Nancy Ewalt let themselves in through the unlocked kitchen door. As I mentioned, the Clutter's doors were never locked, and neither were most of the houses in Holcomb at that time. Right away, they could tell something was off. There was nothing cooking on the stove, no dishes in the sink, and it didn't look like anyone in the house had eaten breakfast. And then Susan noticed Nancy Clutter's purse lying on the floor. It looked like someone had gone through it. The two girls made their way through the house and up the stairs to where their friend's bedroom was. Susan would later remember being scared by the sound of her own footsteps in the silent house. They called Nancy's name as they went, but no one answered. When they reached the top of the landing, they slowly approached Nancy Clutter's bedroom. The door was open, the curtains were drawn back, and the room was full of sunlight. That's where they found her. Outside, Clarence Ewalt was starting to get worried when the girls came sprinting out of the house. Susan wasn't ready to believe what she'd seen. She kept insisting that Nancy Clutter just had a nosebleed. But Clarence's daughter threw herself into his arms, and she just kept saying the same words over and over. She's dead. Around that same time, across town, a man named Larry Hendricks was settling into his mourning. Larry was an English teacher and a school bus driver, but he was also an aspiring writer. He liked to start his day by scanning the newspaper for story ideas. As he flipped through the pages, he could hear panicked voices coming from the apartment downstairs. That's where Susan Kidwell and her mother, Wilma, lived. Moments later, Larry's wife rushed in and told him something was terribly wrong. He dropped his paper and went downstairs. Clarence Ewoldt was there. On the phone with the sheriff from nearby Garden City, Susan Wilma and Nancy Ewoldt were huddled together, clearly shaken. Once Clarence got off the phone, he told Larry what the girls had seen. The two men decided they should drive out to River Valley Farm to meet the police. The local sheriff followed in a separate car, and when they arrived a little after 9:30 that morning, they could tell immediately that something terrible had happened. Normally, when cars pulled up to the driveway, the family's dog would come running to greet them. But that morning, Teddy was just sitting there, quiet. He followed the men towards the house, but then turned around at the door. It was clear the dog didn't want to go inside. The men entered through the driveway door, and right away, Larry Hendricks noticed that the curtains in the house were sagging, like someone had removed the cords that held them in place. That detail probably didn't mean much to him at the time, but it would later on. They made their way upstairs, first retracing the path the girls had taken. In Nancy's bedroom, they found her dead body. Nancy was wearing her nightgown and slippers, and someone had pulled the covers up over her shoulders like they'd been tucking her into bed. The men then checked the other rooms. Kenyon's room was empty, and his glasses were resting on the bookshelf beside his bed. Wherever he'd gone, it had been in a hurry. At the end of the hall, they found Bonnie in another bedroom. Like her daughter, she'd been bound and placed in bed. Her mouth was sealed with tape, but one side of it had come loose from the shotgun blast that killed her. After that, the men searched the ground floor. They checked the master bedroom where Herb usually slept. His bed was empty and his wallet was lying at the foot of it. Like Nancy's purse. It looked like someone had rifled through it. Even though Herb was known throughout Holcomb for never carrying cash. The only part of the house they hadn't checked yet was the basement. As they went downstairs, Larry noticed bloody footprints on the floor and a bloody handprint on the railing. When they reached the bottom, they found Kenyon. He was bound on a sofa, and Herb was lying on a mattress box on the floor. Both had been shot. Four members of the same family, all bound, all dead in their own home. In a town where people didn't even bother locking their doors. After that, the men decided the smartest thing to do was to wait for more officers to arrive. And it didn't take long. The Garden City police chief was one of the first law Enforcement officials on the scene, along with his assistant chief, who was skilled at photographing crime scenes. That assistant chief took photos of the floor around Herb's body, capturing a footprint that had been missed before, a clue that would later turn out to be one of the most important, important pieces of evidence in the entire investigation. He also photographed tire tracks in the driveway that looked like they'd been made by someone leaving in a hurry. State troopers arrived, then newspaper reporters, radio crews, a minister, and people who had known the Clutters their entire lives. Word had spread through Holcomb like wildfire, and everyone came out to the farm to see for themselves whether it was really true. Nancy's boyfriend, Bobby Rupp, was there with his brother. They watched as four ambulances carrying the bodies of the Clutter family wound their way down the driveway and disappeared from sight. By nightfall, the news of what had happened at River Valley farm had spread through every corner of Holcombe. In whispers and phone calls and radio broadcasts, people learned that the family they had just seen the day before, the family they'd gone to church with, done business with and shared meals with, was gone. And for the first time, the people of Holcomb locked their doors. Thank you for calling the bombas comfort line. Bombas make socks, slippers, tees, and underwear made with the highest quality materials. Press 1 for comfort, 2 for style, 3 for donation. You chose style Bombas styles for for whatever you enjoy. You can run in bombas, lounge in bombas, dress them up, dress them down, but always give back in bombas because with every item purchased, another is donated Bombas comfort worth calling for. Go to bombas.com audio and use code audio for 20% off your first purchase. That's B O M B-A-Dot.com and use code audio.
- [22:48]
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- [23:15]
Katie Ring
a quiet Saturday morning, five women walked into Elaine Bryant store and never came home. The man responsible for their deaths was heard and even described by the lone survivor. But despite nearly being caught, he vanished into thin air. In the years since new technology, new investigators and new questions have changed what's possible. But the families are still waiting for answers. The evidence is still there. And this case isn't cold. It's unfinished. Listen to Counterclock Season eight, wherever you get your podcasts. The funeral for the Clutter family drew nearly a thousand people to the First Methodist Church that Herb had helped build. School was canceled in Holcomb that day so that Nancy and Kenyon's classmates could attend, even though a separate memorial service was also held at the local high school. Larry Hendricks, the teacher who'd been one of the first adults to enter the house that morning, watched as the teachers around him broke down alongside their students. The four coffins were carried to Valley View Cemetery. Herb and Bonnie were buried in navy blue. Kenyon wore bright plaid. And Nancy was laid to rest in a red velvet dress that she had made herself. A 16 year old girl who made her own dress, baked award winning pies, ran her household, mentored younger kids in her community, and had her whole future planned out was gone just like that. And it wasn't just Nancy. It was all of them. One of the residents of Holcomb said something after the funeral that I think captures it perfectly. He said it would have stung less if it had been anyone else. That sounds harsh, but he wasn't trying to be cruel. He was saying that the Clutters represented everything their neighbors valued. Hard work, kindness, faith and community. When the Clutters died, it felt like those things died with them. Like something at the very core, core of what Holcomb was supposed to be had been broken. And I think that's what makes this case different from so many others. Yes, it's a terrible crime. Four innocent people lost their lives. But the ripple effect of what happened went so far beyond that one family. It changed the way an entire community thought about itself. People who'd trusted their neighbors now looked at them with suspicion. People who'd felt safe in their homes, suddenly didn't. The world that Holcomb had known, the one where bad things happened somewhere else to other people, it was gone. The case was transferred to the Kansas Bureau of Investigation. And on Monday, November 16, 1959, just one day after the bodies were discovered, a 47 year old KBI agent named Alvin Dewey held a press conference. Dewey was all business. He told the assembled reporters that he would be discussing facts, not theories. And then he laid out what he knew. They weren't dealing with one homicide. They were dealing with four. The police didn't know yet whether the killer or killers had intended to Go after just one member of the family. Or if they'd been targets from the start. The murders happened sometime between 11 at night and 2 in the morning. But the exact order of death was impossible to pin down. They didn't know if they were looking for one suspect or more than one. None of the victims had been sexually assaulted, and nothing of great value appeared to have been stolen. That last detail was especially confusing. If robbery was the motive, what exactly had the killers been after? Herb Clutter was well known for almost never carrying cash. His wallet had been gone through, and so had Nancy's purse. But there was no indication that anything significant had been taken. It didn't add up. And even though Agent Dewey was committed to keeping the investigation grounded in facts, this case hit him personally. He and his wife went to the same church as the Clutter family. They'd known and respected them for years. But even if the victims had been complete strangers, Dewey later said the sheer brutality and senselessness of the crime would have affected him just as deeply. He vowed to find out what happened that night, even if it took the rest of his life. Dewey wasn't working alone. He had three other KBI agents assisting him. Roy Church, Clarence Duntz and Harold Nye. Church and Duntz spent the early days of the investigation combing through the Kansas countryside, chasing down every possible lead. It wasn't long before they found some, but none of them seemed to pan out. Agent Dunst tracked down a father and son who had a grudge against Herb Clutter. Apparently, the pair felt like Herb had cheated them on a business deal. And at one point, they'd actually driven out to River Valley Farm looking for a confrontation. But Herb had met them at the door with a gun, and they'd left in a hurry. Meanwhile, Agent Church found a man who believed the Clutter family was responsible for the death of his hunting dog. This man had a length of rope hanging in his barn. And here's what was unsettling about it. The rope was tied with the same kind of knot that had been used to bind the Clutters. But beyond that, there was nothing concrete to connect him to the crime. Agent Harold Nye had an entirely different theory. He was convinced it was a robbery gone wrong. His thinking was, based on the evidence, that Nancy's purse and Herb's wallet had burned. Both been searched through. Someone had come to that house looking for money. The problem was, anyone who actually knew Herb Clutter knew that he almost never had cash on hand. So who would have thought there was money to steal? After Talking to everyone he could find. The only conclusion Nye could come to was the same one everyone else kept reaching. Nobody would do something like this to the Clutters. Nobody had a real reason to. But there was one thing the entire team agreed on. Based on the evidence inside the house, they were almost certain this wasn't the work of a single person. They believed there were two killers. Here's why. Technically, it was possible that one person could have done it alone. Maybe they knew the Clutters didn't lock their doors. Maybe they knew the family dog was afraid of guns. They could have entered the house, cut the phone lines, woken Herb up at gunpoint, and forced him to help tie up the rest of his family before being bound himself. But that theory didn't really hold up. For one thing, the knots on all four family members appeared to have been tied by the same person. If Herb had been forced to tie up his own family, the knots would have been different. And beyond that, there was a question of why Herb and Kenyon, two men who outnumbered a single intruder, wouldn't have fought back. The two killer theory made much more sense. One person holds the gun, keeps the family in line. The other does the binding and the searching. That would explain why there weren't any signs of a struggle. But here's the part that really got to Agent Dewey, the part that kept him up at night. Mixed in with all of the violence, there were these strange little moments of almost kindness. Herb had been given a cardboard box to lie on so he wasn't directly on the cold basement floor. Kenyon's head had been propped up on pillows. Bonnie was given a chair to sit on before she was tied up in bed. And Nancy had been tucked in after also being tied up, her blankets pulled up to her shoulders like someone was putting her to sleep. These were tiny gestures of care scattered through a scene of absolute horror. And they raised a question that Dewey couldn't stop turning over in his mind. How could someone swing so violently between moments of what looked like empathy and acts of unimaginable cruelty? What kind of person or people could do both? None of it made sense. The whole town was asking the same question. Why? Why the Clutters? Why like this? And who would be next? As the weeks dragged on and no arrests were made, fear settled over Holcomb like a blanket. People started looking sideways at their neighbors. Conversations that used to be warm and easy became short and guarded. Doors that had been open for generations were now bolted shut every single night. There was a feeling in the air that was described as almost like a sickness, like the trust that had held the community together for decades was dissolving and nobody could stop it. And the worst part was the silence from law enforcement. Agent Dewey and his team were working around the clock, but they couldn't share what they were doing. They couldn't tell the people of Holcomb that they were making progress, because for the first several weeks, they honestly weren't sure they were. Every lead seemed to go cold. Every suspect they looked at didn't quite fit. Meanwhile, the story of the Clutter family was starting to travel far beyond Kansas City. Newspapers across the country picked it up, and before the year was out, a famous writer in New York would read about the murders and decide that this was going to be the subject of his next book. That writer's name was Truman Capote, and his involvement in this story would eventually change American literature forever. We will be diving into that in tomorrow's episode. But while Capote was making travel plans and the people of Holcomb were locking their doors, something was happening inside a Kansas prison cell that would crack this case wide open. A prisoner named Floyd Wells was listening to the radio. He'd been serving a three to five year sentence for robbery. And one evening, a news report came on about the Clutter family murders. The broadcaster described the victims. Herbert Clutter, his wife and their two teenage children. All bound, all shot. The authorities were asking anyone with information to come forward. Wells couldn't believe what he was hearing because he knew the Clutters. Years earlier, as a teenager, he'd actually worked as a farmhand at River Valley Farm. He remembered Herb Clutter, and he liked him. But that wasn't the part that made his blood run cold. The part that shook Floyd Wells to his core was that he was pretty sure he knew knew who did it, because he'd told his former cellmate all about the Clutter family. About the farm, about the layout of the house, and about the money he believed Herb kept in a safe. He'd shared all of it, never thinking for a second that any of it would lead to something like this. But now four people were dead. That former cellmate's name was Richard Hickok. And what he and another man did at Rich River Valley Farm on the night of November 14, 1959, would become one of the most written about crimes in American history. At the end of each episode, I like to take a moment to share my thoughts on the case and answer any questions you might have. So make sure to comment below. Surprisingly, I had Never heard about the Clutter family until after someone suggested covering this case. But this case definitely had a big, big impact on how we view crime in more than one way. The first one is the way that this story shattered the illusion of safety in small towns. This was a town of less than 300 people in a very remote and isolated area. Everybody knew each other, nobody locked their doors, and overnight everything changed in the community. In a town that rarely has any visitors when an entire family is murdered, you basically look at everyone around you as a potential suspect. And that must have been a very unsettling feeling. On top of that, the police didn't have any answers. No arrests and no suspect's name. I've gotten a lot of comments on social media from people in rural towns who say their town is safe and that no one ever locks their doors. But unfortunately, in this day and age, I say it is much better to be safe than sorry because unfortunately, you never know what people are capable of. When you know everyone and live in a tight knit community, you definitely have a sense of trust. But crimes happen in small towns every day, whether it's at the hands of residents or people passing through. The other thing we will be talking about in much more detail in the next episodes is the way that this case and the resulting coverage reshaped true crime as a genre. Something I found really disturbing is, was the little acts of kindness during the murders, the pillow for Kenyon, Nancy being tucked in. What do you make of that? This is something that feels so haunting and I think it's something that a lot of people wrestled with, including Agent Dewey. For me, the biggest question is why? Why did they have to kill them? Why couldn't they have just robbed them and leave? These acts show that at least one of the killers who we will talk about in tomorrow's episode clearly had some kind of hesitation, recognized these people as human beings, and most likely felt a semblance of guilt. But they still took their lives anyway. And I think that's what makes it so disturbing. Not just that this happened, but that it was carried out by people who at some level knew exactly what they were doing. And it forces us to sit with a really uncomfortable idea that the line between empathy and violence isn't always as clear as we want it to be. Thanks so much for joining me. Make sure to rate, review and follow America's Most Infamous crimes so we can keep building this community together and to get all episodes at once. Ad free. Subscribe to Crime House plus on Apple Podcasts. Come back tomorrow for our next episode on the Clutter family murders. 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