3:32 pm
In the East Liberty precinct station the doors and windows were opened wide to snare the vagrant breezes . There were eight men in the room ; the desk sergeant , two beat cops waiting to go on duty , the audio controller , the deAngelis operator , two reporters , and a local book ... businessman . From the back of the building , the jail proper , the voice of a prisoner asking for a match floated out to the men in the room , and a few minutes later they heard the slow , exasperated steps of the turnkey as he walked over to give his prisoner a light . At 3:32 pm , the deAngelis board came alive as half-a-dozen lights flashed red , and the needles on the dials below them trembled in the seventies and eighties . Every other light on the board showed varying shades of pink , registering in the sixties . The operator glanced at the board , started to note the times and intensities of two of the dials in his log , scratched them out , then went on with his conversation with the audio controller . The younger reporter got up and came over to the board .