Ronald Mayhle caught a glimpse into his son's life as a police officer each morning, when Stephen would call him and recount with excitement the drug busts, tricky arrests and car chases that filled his overnight shift.

"Several times I'd tell him to be careful, whatever you do," Mr. Mayhle, said. "He'd say, 'Dad, I'm the one who has the gun.' "

The phone calls tempered Mr. Mayhle's occasional pangs of unease about his son's dangerous job.

But on the morning of April 4, the daily morning call instead came from his son's wife, Shandra, who told him he hadn't come home.

Mrs. Mayhle, speaking for the first time since laying her husband to rest, recalled the events of that morning.

"I found out that there was a shooting, and I found out it was in his zone," she said last night. "I called his zone, and they said I had to get there right away."

Officer Mayhle was an hour short of ending his shift when he responded to a domestic disturbance call in Stanton Heights that would erupt into the deadliest day for law enforcement in Pennsylvania history. Officers Eric G. Kelly, 41, a 14-year veteran, and Paul J. Sciullo II, 37, another two-year veteran, also were killed in the shootout.

"He was well aware of the dangers, but even though you're aware of the dangers, you never think it's going to happen, and if it happens, it's going to happen elsewhere," Mr. Mayhle said. "You never think it's going to actually happen to him."

But before he paid for his devotion with his life, before he studied criminology and joined the Pittsburgh police force, Stephen Mayhle was a boy from Indiana, Pa., who liked to watch "America's Most Wanted" and longed to be a cop.

He was born April 3, 1980, to Ronald, a dispatcher for a trucking company, and Marjorie, a nurse. In Indiana, he went to a small parochial school, worked labor jobs to earn money during summer breaks from high school, and liked to play football with younger brothers Jeffrey, 25, and Jamie, 21.

Pirates games were father-son outings. The boys would play baseball together in the backyard, ride bikes or play on a rope swing in a patch of woods at the edge of their property.

When he was old enough, his father let him watch "COPS" and "America's Most Wanted," perhaps planting the seeds for a future in law enforcement.

Sundays were spent at Indiana Wesleyan Methodist Church, and the brothers went to Indiana Wesleyan School in Dixonville, just like their parents. Faith was important to Stephen, his father said, and "church was a part of our lives."

In high school, Stephen hinted that he wanted to be a cop or a special agent, maybe join the FBI.

Stephen had known Shandra all his life, but they grew closer as friends in high school. They started dating when Shandra was a junior and announced their engagement shortly after her high school graduation. They were married Nov. 18, 2000, at the start of Stephen's third year of criminology studies at Indiana University of Pennsylvania.

It was there that one of Stephen's professors asked his class, "What do you really want to do?" On a note card, Stephen responded, simply, that he wanted to join the city force. He was drawn to Pittsburgh's "excitement and action," to the Pirates and the Steelers and to city dwelling, Mrs. Mayhle said.

And in Pittsburgh, his father said, he believed he stood a greater chance at accomplishing his larger goal of becoming a homicide detective.

But law enforcement jobs were scarce after he graduated from IUP in 2002, and Stephen's uncle sold him his landscaping business in Knoxville, Tenn. The young couple moved to Tennessee, and Shandra gave birth to two girls: Jennifer, now 6, and Brooklynn, 3. For four years, Stephen ran the business, landscaping commercial buildings and condos. But he still wanted to be a police officer.

He sold the business and moved back when he learned Pittsburgh was seeking officers. He sent applications there, as well as to the Indiana Borough police and Pennsylvania State Police.

Working in Zone 5, Mr. Mayhle said, was a "dream come true."

Shandra would kiss her husband before work and tell him to be careful.

"I always knew it was a good night when he would come home with a grin on his face and he would tell me about all the crazy things he had to handle," Shandra said. "People would ask me how I could sleep at night when I would relate some of the stories. I don't remember worrying much at all because I knew that they had each other's back. Anytime he'd tell me a story, it was rare that he was there by himself."

The Mayhles recently moved to Brookline from an apartment building on Bunkerhill Street in Highland Park. Brookline was safer for the girls, he told his parents.

"He was the highlight of the kids' day," Mr. Mayhle said. "He was the type to get down on the floor and romp with them."

At night, Shandra said, the girls would pray, "Please protect Daddy when he goes to work."

But now, Brooklynnprays, "Please help Daddy not to die."

"I don't think they fully grasp it," Shandra said. "They knew Daddy went and got the bad guys, so they weren't scared."

His brother, Jamie, who is studying to become a pastor at Allegheny Wesleyan College in Salem, Ohio, often prayed, too. Since heading off to school, he hadn't been able to see his brother as much, but they talked weekly. Jamie asked his brother to be the best man at his wedding in July.

"One time I told him I was praying the Lord would keep him safe," Jamie said. "He said, 'It must be working,' and then he told me about a dangerous situation he'd been in."

Ronald Mayhle last spoke to his son the day before he died. It was his 29th birthday.

"I told him, 'I'm just calling to tell you happy birthday,' " Mr. Mayhle said.

"He was proud," brother Jamie said. "He was proud of the family he was a part of. He was proud of his wife and daughters. He was proud that he served the Lord, and when he became a police officer, he was proud that that's what he was."