The rest of the world was portentous and monochromatic. On his left, Lake Michigan threw her waves against jagged rocks. The tumult mirrored the nerves in his body, the buzzing of his blood, the trembling of his jaw. He felt suddenly claustrophobic and charged to run out into the rain, away from the herd of black umbrellas now parading toward the chapel. But where would he run? Home, where he could feel the looming presence of the police department and catch a glimpse of Garrison’s ruined memorial every time he passed the kitchen window? To his mother’s, where he’d have to tell the whole story of Garrison’s demise only to give her the sick satisfaction of saying I told you not to be a cop. To Miserelli’s? No. No, he couldn’t go there.

The wind slammed into him as soon as he stepped out of the parked vehicle. It ripped the door right out of Riley’s hand, too. She fought to close it, looking as if she wanted to punch it. They joined a two-by-two procession on the salted walkway and entered the chapel.

He expected it to be silent as a tomb. But inside, the chapel was anything but silent. His sense of hearing seemed suddenly heightened. Each note of the organ sent a vibration through his bones. The wind shushing through the vestibule prickled at the back of his neck. He heard crying, terrible sounds from deep in people’s throats; the sharp click of heels on flagstone as visitors made their way up to pay their respects.

From where he stood in line, behind dozens of rows of pews, he could see the backs of Lilah and Noelle. Noelle’s head was turned, her forehead pressed against the shoulder of who Hudson thought was her sister. Garrison’s daughter, Lilah, sat as erect as though there was a rod in her back, forcing her to look in the direction of the casket. He knew her well enough to know that her fingernails were digging into her tights as she fought not to cry.

He wanted to comfort her. He should comfort her, he thought, but when he looked around, he saw that only family and civilians had gathered in their seating areas. The middle was empty, reserved for sworn personnel. He filed into one of the rows with Kole and Riley. Devine broke away and sat with Fletcher. Sitting with his feet planted firmly to the floor, Hudson looked around. The effect was dizzying. Two tiers above them held community members, friends, and law enforcement personnel from other jurisdictions.

Back on his level, he saw Miserelli with the rest of his and Garrison’s old patrol squad. She caught his eye, but her expression remained frozen. His view of her was blocked when they stood again and assembled into a single-file line by unit and rank. The mayor led the procession and the aldermen came after him, then Chief Stromwell, who raised his hand in a salute as he approached the casket.