“The thing I’m most grateful for is when Stanford was promoted to sergeant a few years ago, his father was there that day. He couldn’t have been prouder of the young man Stanford had become—and neither could I.”

Grant took the time to clear his throat. Frankel could clearly see the man was doing everything in his power to hold it together.

“Even if Stanford had been my own son.”

Which in many ways he became, as Frankel and the other mourners learned when Grant spoke of the death of Hawley’s father and the subsequent closeness that had developed between the commander and his trusted sergeant.

“Today we have gathered to honor one of our fallen brethren. Stanford Hawley will surely be missed and remembered. And by no one more so than me as I feel like I have lost one of my very own.”

The crowd responded “Amen” in unison. Frankel was surprised when Grant remained behind the podium and turned to the casket beside him.

“One last thing, Sergeant. The man who did this will be punished. I promise you this—even if takes me till my dying day. On that you have my word, Stanford.”

Grant turned around to face the gathered mourners.

“And so do all of you.”

“You didn’t mention he was going to end with that,” Frankel said as he left the church with Rachel.

“I had no idea,” she responded as she threw on her coat to ward off the cold. “It wasn’t in the draft he showed me last night.”

“Maybe he decided to call an audible,” suggested Frankel.

“An audible? Like a Peyton Manning, ‘Omaha, Omaha’ audible?

Frankel raised an eyebrow.

“I’m the girl who went to New York City to hang at the Garden, remember?”

“You certainly are.” He gave her a sheepish grin.

“You’ve spent enough time with my father to know the man doesn’t do anything without thinking it through.”

“So, why did he do it?”

“I guess we’ll have to ask him,” replied Rachel.

Easier said than done. It had gotten very crowded outside the church and they had temporarily lost sight of Grant among all the uniforms, exiting guests, and lookie-loo Londoners who were milling around despite the cold.

“There the two of you are.”

Frankel and Rachel turned to see that a Grant had found them—though it was Rachel’s uncle Everett. He indicated the crowd with a nod, his hands staying in the pockets of his heavy wool overcoat to try and keep warm.

“I had no idea this was going to turn into such a circus.”

“None of us did,” Rachel said.

Everett extended a hand toward Frankel.

“I’m sorry to meet you under such terrible circumstances, Detective. I’ve heard nothing but wonderful things about you from both my niece and my brother.”

Frankel’s eyes widened. “You’re sure we’re talking about the commander?”