David Grann’s Killers of the Flower Moon: The Osage Murders and the Birth of the FBI is a non-fiction ‘novel’ that manages to combine a real-world mystery with noir and organized crime elements while also elucidating historical racism against a population seldom considered in modern reevaluations of our own history of oppressing minorities. Drawing on what appears to be a wealth of notes from the initial investigation as well as private correspondence, Grann gives the reader a murder story with a proper resolution, but enough loose ends to set up a final section to the book where he continues exploring unsolved crimes, revealing even further how little the government did to protect the Osage against pitiless enemies. It’s among the leading candidates to win the Pulitzer Prize for Non-Fiction on Monday.

The Osage were one of the Native American tribes banished to present-day Oklahoma when that area was known as “Indian Territory,” marked as such on many maps of the late 19th century; Oklahoma as we know it didn’t exist until 1907, when it became the 46th state. (It always amused me to think of the ‘hole’ in the map of the U.S. as late as 1906, before Oklahoma, Arizona, and New Mexico attained statehood.) By a fortunate accident, the plot of apparently useless land to which the federal government exiled the Osage sat on top of one of the largest petroleum deposits in the continental U.S., which made the Osage mineral millionaires. The government couldn’t quite revoke their rights, but instead ruled that the Osage, being savages, were incompetent to run their own affairs, and that Osage adults required white ‘guardians’ to oversee their financial decisions, which, of course, led to much thievery and embezzlement and, in time, foul play, such as white citizens marrying Osage members and then poisoning their spouses to gain legal control of their headrights and the income they provided.

Two murders in particular attracted the attention of authorities outside of the county, however, as both Osage victims were shot in the head at close range, so there was no question of claiming natural causes, as was often the case when victims were poisoned (often in whiskey, so alcohol could be blamed). These murders were part of a spate of dozens of killings, many of which didn’t appear at first to be connected other than that the victims were either Osage themselves or were in some way investigating the crimes; the sheer scope of this and some media coverage brought in the attention of a young, ambitious bureaucrat named J. Edgar Hoover, who decided to put one of his top agents at the nascent Bureau of Investigation (no ‘federal’ in its title) on the case. The subsequent unraveling of the deceptions and the revelation that the mastermind of the plot was someone closer to the Osage than anyone expected included both early forensic science and dogged investigative work, leading eventually to one confession that toppled the criminal enterprise – only to have the trial twist and turn more than once before the final verdict.

Grann couldn’t have picked a better subject for the book, because these characters often seem plucked from Twin Peaks, from the Osage woman Molly, a survivor of a poisoning attempt whose sister was one of the victims killed by gunshot and who had several other family members die in suspicious circumstances, on up to the head of the scheme, a man whose greed and malice lay hidden behind a façade of benevolence toward his Osage neighbors. Killers of the Flower Moon would make an excellent dramatic film if told straight, but it would take just a little artistic license to turn it into the sort of crime tapestry in which HBO has excelled for years by sharpening or exaggerating some of the individuals’ personalities.

The story of the murders and the federal agents’ work to convict the killers is, in itself, more than enough to stand alone as a compelling narrative work, but Grann explains how the federal, state, and county authorities regularly worked to strip the Osage of their rights, fueled by outright racism and by jealousy of the tribe’s good fortune (with, it appears, no consideration of how racism and avarice drove the tribe to Oklahoma in the first place). After the verdict and what might normally stand as an epilogue, Grann himself appears, writing in the first person about his experiences researching the book and how he found evidence that the Bureau didn’t solve all of the murders, or even most of them, but assumed that they’d gotten the Big Foozle and had thus closed the case. Grann may have solved one more murder himself, but as he interviews more surviving relatives of the victims – many of whom ask him to find out who killed their fathers or uncles or sisters – it becomes clear that the majority of these killings will remain unsolved, a sort of ultimate insult on top of the lifetime of indignities to which these Osage victims were subjected.

It’s hard to escape the conclusion, although Grann never makes it explicit, that this would never have happened if any of the governing (white) authorities viewed the Osage tribe members as actual people. Dozens of killings went unsolved and unaddressed for several years before Hoover’s men arrived, and some unknown but large percentage of the killings will never be solved. What white officials didn’t do for the Osage in the 1920s continues today in what mostly (but not always) white officials don’t do today to address violence in urban, mostly African-American communities, including right near me in the majority-black city of Wilmington, nicknamed “Murder Town” for its disproportionately high rate of deaths by gun. If the governments responsible for the safety of these citizens don’t see those citizens’ deaths as important, or as equal to the deaths of white citizens, then it is unlikely that anything of substance will be done to stop it.

I listened to the audio version of Grann’s book, which has three narrators, one of whom, actor Will Patton, does an unbelievable job of bringing the various characters, especially the conspirators, to life. The other narrators were fine, but Patton’s voice and intonations made this one of the most memorable audiobooks I’ve listened to.

Next up: I just finished George Saunders’ Lincoln in the Bardo, which won the Man Booker Prize in 2017 and is among the favorites to win the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction next week; and have begun Joan Silber’s Improvement, also from 2017.