“I actually realized this the first day I met him,” said the commander from the podium on the church’s altar. “Not that I let him know this. The last thing I needed was a wet-behind-the-ears constable with a swelled head. For starters, I would have had to send him back to fetch a different-sized hat.”

There were lots of chuckles, especially from the first dozen rows where Hawley’s everyday colleagues sat, the denizens of the Yard building itself. Frankel realized that with neither of Hawley’s parents alive, and no sibling or wife to call his own, on this somber morning these people were the sergeant’s family.

“We’d just gone over the morning report and I was having a devil of a time seeing it because I’d misplaced my favorite pair of reading glasses. I had searched my office, looked in every nook and cranny. When then-Constable Hawley had inquired as to what I was looking for and I told him, he stared for what probably seemed an eternity to him before asking in a voice barely above a whisper if the spectacles in question were the ones resting on my very own forehead.”

Laughter circulated through the church.

“From that moment on, I knew I could always count on Stanford Hawley to get me whatever I needed, whenever I wanted, and—more often than not—before I even realized I didn’t have or even desired it.”

Grant took a deep breath.

“Until right now.”

It got quiet once again in the sanctuary.

“Now, when I need something more than ever—he isn’t there to help me.”

Frankel glanced at Rachel sitting beside him. Her eyes, brimming with tears, were locked on her father as he continued to speak.

“What I need is Sergeant Stanford Hawley and the only thing that I can find at this point is that I’m at a complete loss without him.”

The tears flowed down Rachel’s cheeks; Frankel took her hand and she gave him a grateful nod. He noticed her glance across the aisle to offer a sad smile to a handsome man in his fifties who bore a distinct resemblance to Grant. Frankel realized this must be Everett, the uncle Rachel was so fond of. The two men exchanged warm nods, then turned their attention back to the grieving Grant.

The commander took everyone through the “cut too short” life of Stanford Hawley. He recalled his being raised in the southwest London suburb of Woking, the town where his father had worked as a shoemaker in the same shop as Hawley’s grandfather. Grant spoke of young Stanford doing his working-class father (who had raised Hawley as a single dad) proud when he joined the Yard. He talked about taking the constable under his wing and watching Hawley transform into a responsible, upstanding keeper of the law.