The deAngelis operator called over to the audio controller, "Got us a case of crinkle fender, I think."
"Where?" the controller asked.
"Can't tell yet," Blaney said. "A hot-head and a citizen with righteous indignation. They're clear enough, but not too sharp." He swiveled in his chair and adjusted knobs before a large circular screen. Pale streaks of light glowed briefly as the sweep passed over them. There were milky dots everywhere. A soft light in the lower left hand corner of the screen cut an uncertain path across the grid, and two indeterminate splotches in the upper half of the scope flared out to the margin.
"Morningside," the operator said.
The splashes of light separated; one moved quickly off the screen, the other held stationary for several minutes, then contracted and began a steady, jagged advance toward the center of the grid. One inch down, half an inch over, two inches down, then four inches on a diagonal line.
"Like I said," said Blaney. "An accident."
Eight minutes later, at 5:32, a slightly pompous and thoroughly outraged young salesman marched through the doors of the station house and over to the desk sergeant.
"Some clown just hit me ..." he began.
"With his fist?" asked the sergeant.
"With his car," said the salesman. "My car ... with his car ... he hit my car with his car."