WASHINGTON – Last Nov. 4, calls went out over the police radios in Richmond, Kentucky, reporting an officer down.

A short time later, when texts spread throughout the force that the officer was Daniel Ellis, friend and fellow officer Zach Stokes recalled thinking to himself, “Not Ellis.”

If an officer as savvy as Ellis could be killed in the line of duty, Stokes said, it could happen to anybody.

Stokes recalled the moment before the names of Ellis and 122 other law enforcement officers killed last year were to be formally dedicated on the National Law Enforcement Officers Memorial in Washington.

Names of another 129 officers who were previously killed were also added to a wall that now bears the names of 20,789 fallen officers.

Hundreds of people strolled by the walls, on each side of a block-long plaza not far from the White House, in the drizzle of a gray, mournful afternoon.

Some knelt and traced the names of lost friends on pieces of paper.

A Richmond police patch and engraving showing Ellis and his son were placed near his name on the growing monument to the dangers faced by law enforcement officers.

Ellis’ name took its spot  near those of other officers who’ve preceded him.

Nearby were patches are pictures left by those who loved California Highway Patrolman Robert Suess, killed by a drunk driver in 1958; New York State Police Sgt. Harry Adams, killed in the line of duty in 1951; and New York City Police Officer Brian Moore, gunned down last May.

Ellis, who was 33,  knew the dangers. His father was a cop, said Stokes, one of 26 police from Richmond, in addition to Ellis’ family, who came for a vigil Friday night to formally dedicate the new additions to the wall. A memorial ceremony is scheduled for Sunday.

The last call Ellis went on wasn’t particularly unique. Police had tracked a mugging suspect to a home based on a license plate reported by a witness.

“We’ve all gone on calls like that,” Stokes said.

Except this time, an ex-con man, Raleigh Sizemore Jr., was hiding in a bedroom as Ellis and another officer searched the apartment.

Sizemore had vowed not to be taken back to prison. The the moment that Ellis entered the bedroom, unaware of the ambush, police said Sizemore shot him in the head.

There wasn’t anything Ellis could have done.

“He was a great cop,” Stokes said. “If you were looking for a suspect, he’d know exactly where they’d be. He had that kind of photographic mind.”

Ellis was full of life, quick with a quip when situations were tense.

“He was a great cop and a great father and a great friend,” said friend and fellow officer Dustin Mullins, who remembered seeing Ellis push his son around his neighborhood in a baby stroller.

Mullins, who now trains officers, said he tells his recruits about Ellis.

If it could happen to him, of all people, it could happen to anybody.

It’s been a sobering reminder for Richmond police, and it puts life into perspective.

“You make sure you tell your wife you love her, and you make sure you hug and kiss your kid when you leave” for duty, Stokes said.

It’s also a reminder to the families and fiends of police. Wives of Richmond police have been getting together, bonded by their shared vulnerability.

Ellis went into law enforcement because of his bloodlines.

A statue by the memorial explains why he stayed, Stokes said. It depicts a lioness shielding her cubs.

Stokes said Ellis’ cousin, Hannah Ellis, will sing a song she wrote in his honor at the memorial service Sunday. It’s called “Officer Down.”

Stokes admits that he hasn’t been able to listen to the whole thing.

He’s not sure how he’ll handle it when she sings, “I’ve kissed you goodbye a thousand times. But never like I’m doing right now.”

Kery Murakami is the Washington, D.C. reporter for CNHI’s newspapers and websites. Reach him at kmurakami@cnhi.com