Fatal Reckoning (Fatal #14)(22)
The church was completely packed, with overflow crowds outside, who would listen to the service on speakers. At the request of the family, the service would not be televised, even though the MPD and White House had received numerous requests from the media wanting to broadcast it.
After the family was seated in the front rows, Sam’s squad rolled Skip’s casket down the center aisle, followed by Chief Farnsworth, Deputy Chief Conklin, Captain Malone and a cadre of retired officers who had served with Skip, each of them in dress uniform.
The Reverend Canon William Swain, a childhood friend of Skip’s, presided over the service along with an archbishop and another clergy member. Her father hadn’t been particularly religious, but he’d maintained a close friendship with Reverend Swain, who’d been a frequent visitor during the last few difficult years.
The reverend began with a prayer of thanksgiving for Skip’s life and his service to the city he loved. “Skip Holland was of the District, for the District. Having lived in the Capitol Hill neighborhood his entire life, from Brent Elementary School to the highest ranks of the Metropolitan Police Department, this city was his home. And we will lay him to rest today in the neighborhood where he lived a life of honor, service, family, faith and community.”
Sam’s eldest niece, Brooke, gave the first reading, Freddie did the second reading, Ethan and Jack presented the Offertory gifts and Joe Farnsworth gave the first of three eulogies.
“Part of me still can’t believe this has really happened.” Joe propped his arms on the lectern as if he needed the support of the wooden structure. “Even as he lived on borrowed time for four long years, Skip rose above the daily challenges to continue providing love, friendship, wisdom, humor, grace and guidance to those of us who’d relied on him for those things long before his injury.
“Only a giant like Skip could’ve continued to be such a huge presence in our lives with only half his face and one finger to work with. In the last few days, I’ve found myself wanting to turn to him for advice about how to handle the loss of my closest friend, my brother in arms, my moral center and my true north. Since I can’t do that, I’ve taken comfort in asking myself ‘What would Skip do?’ By answering that question, I have found my way through the difficult hours and days since we lost him. As we go forward without his daily presence in our lives, we should regularly ask ourselves what Skip would do. If we follow his example, we’ll do the right thing, the honorable thing, the noble thing.”
When Scotty sniffled, Nick raised his arm and put it around his son.
“I will remember his humor, the eyebrow that conveyed so much with only the subtlest of lifts, the parties… The epic parties. No one could throw a party like Skip Holland. I’ll never forget the time Patrol responded to a report of a wild party on Ninth Street only to realize their deputy chief was the host and their chief was a guest.” Laughter rippled through the church. “I’ll remember the dancing…”
Those who’d known him before his injury lost it laughing. Skip had been a horrible dancer, and everyone knew it except him.
“The enthusiasm with which he did everything was a hallmark of his remarkable life and distinguished career. Celia, Tracy, Mike, Angela, Spencer, Sam, Nick, Brooke, Abby, Ethan, Jack, Ella and Scotty… You were his heart and his soul. His love for you was the most important thing in his life, his pride in his family boundless. I was never with him that he didn’t tell me something about one of you that made him glow with happiness. I honestly believe he survived an injury that should’ve killed him because he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to all of you. He wanted to be here to marry his love, Celia, and to meet Nick, Scotty and Ella. His work here wasn’t finished yet, but it is now, and he can go to his final reward knowing his three beloved girls and precious grandchildren will be well cared for by sons-in-law he deeply loved and respected. Marti and I hope you will take comfort, each of you, in knowing you were well and truly loved by the greatest man I’ve ever known.”
As he came down from the altar, Joe stopped to hug and kiss Celia, Tracy, Angela and Sam.
“And now,” Reverend Swain said, “we’ll hear from Skip’s grandson, Scott Cappuano.”
Wearing the blue blazer, light blue dress shirt, khaki pants and red-and-blue-striped tie that Scotty referred to as his “work clothes,” he made his way to the altar and placed a piece of paper on the lectern before adjusting the microphone to his height. He looked so grown-up and composed that Sam’s heart swelled to overflowing with love for him.
Nick gave her hand a squeeze.
She held on tight to him, hoping she could get through this without losing it. They’d asked the other grandchildren if any of them wanted to speak, but they’d demurred, agreeing to allow Scotty to speak for all of them.
“I was five years old when my first grandpa died. I don’t remember much about him, except for the smell of cigars and that he loved baseball. I’ve only had my grandpa Skip in my life for a little over a year, but I’m really thankful that I’m older now and will remember every minute I ever spent with him. When I first came to live with my mom and dad, my grandpa Skip made me feel like I was his real grandson, which always meant a lot to me.
“He wanted to hear anything I had to tell him, and we had long conversations about politics and why none of Washington’s sports teams could seem to win a championship until the Caps finally did it this year. I talked to him about kids at school, and if he were here right now, he could tell you the names of the bullies, because he remembered the details. ‘Boyo,’ he would say, ‘the devil is in the details, especially when it comes to police work.’