Accident Investigations: a Bang-Up Job

It was physics that sent the physics professor spinning and his car insurance soaring. Those were the equal and opposite reactions to his action of blowing a red light and knocking his Toyota head-on into a Geo.

When Sgt. Ben Lee pulled up seconds later, the professor was dabbing the blood on his chin. His battered car still sat askew amid bits of shattered glass and plastic, its malfunctioning alarm still squealing.

As an accident investigator for the Los Angeles Police Department, Lee spends his afternoons and evenings at scenes like this.

By carefully measuring skid marks and picking through busted-up hulks, Lee and his officers can piece together a chain of events that unfold over fractions of a second.

In serious accidents, they are homicide detectives, tracking down hit-and-run drivers and collaring drunks. In simple fender-benders, they are mediators, making sure drivers swap insurance information.

It is often a technical job that is decidedly unglamorous. No one ever thanks them for a ticket.

Yet they are the officers the average person is most likely to meet.

Americans will spend an estimated $800 million this year on anti-theft devices for their cars, such as alarms and steering wheel locks, according to the National Insurance Crime Bureau. But most will spend little time and almost no money improving their driving skills.

In fact, the average person is more likely to die in a traffic accident than at the hands of a carjacker. And even minor collisions can cost thousands by the time repair bills and insurance hikes are tallied.

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A sharp accident investigator can piece together a simple crash like the professor’s in a few minutes. Complicated collisions involving several vehicles or a fatality can take several hours.

When a driver bolts, the investigation gets trickier. Detective Bob Uber said investigating traffic deaths can be more difficult than solving a murder.

Murders usually have motives. Traffic accidents are random.

“We don’t have a bullet,” said Uber, who investigates accidents that involve crimes such as hit-and-run or drunk driving. What they do have is evidence such as tire marks.

Tires leave different skid patterns as they do different things. With the length of a skid, an investigator can determine how fast a car was traveling. Flat skids generally indicate a driver trying to stop by slamming on the brakes. Acceleration skids often leave heavier traces of rubber on the pavement.

At a collision in Pacoima, Officer John Teetor traced skid marks on the pavement, pointing out different events as revealed by the tracks: Braking began here, impact occurred there, the car got pushed sideways to here.

“That’s probably where his axle broke,” Teetor said, pointing to a wobble in an otherwise straight skid.

Other techniques are more conventional. In serious accidents, investigators comb through cars for clothing fibers or fingerprints or anything to connect a driver to the crash.

In simple collisions, the routine is simple. Officers check if drivers were wearing seat belts. On one Mustang, when Teetor and Lee clasped the belt together, only an inch or two was left between the buckle and the seat back, indicating it had not been used.

“He would have to be pretty skinny to be wearing that belt,” Lee says.

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Hopping out of his black-and-white at the corner of Saticoy Street and Variel Avenue in Canoga Park, Lee’s first order of business is to make sure no one is injured.

The professor’s jaw is covered with cuts caused by the inflation of his car’s air bag, so Lee calls an ambulance. The other driver, a 17-year-old with no license and no insurance, is uninjured.

Uninsured motorists are a problem. Lee estimates as many as 40% of drivers in Los Angeles are uninsured. Many who forsake insurance also neglect to register their cars or to get a license.

“They have nothing to lose,” Lee says. “But you better believe that if you hit them, they will somehow find a lawyer.”

As he waits for the ambulance to arrive, Lee climbs into the front seat of the professor’s still-squawking Toyota and nudges it out of rush-hour traffic. The front axle is broken so the few feet to the curb is as far as the car will go.

A witness tells Lee that the professor blew through the red light at Saticoy just as the teen-ager was starting a left turn onto Variel. The professor says he was on his way to class when the light changed yellow.

The ambulance arrives and two paramedics examine the professor’s jaw, peppering him with questions about age, height, weight, date of birth. “Hey,” one of the paramedics says cheerfully, “you got a birthday coming up. An early happy birthday to you.”

The professor smiles faintly and mumbles something about his class.

“I think you’re going to be a little late,” the cheerful paramedic says, wrapping up the exam. The professor’s injuries are restricted to the minor cuts, not a more serious injury as Lee had feared.

As the ambulance pulls away, the tow truck arrives. The driver quickly hooks up the professor’s Toyota and offers him a ride to the garage, where he can use the phone to call for a ride home.

An hour after the crash, the street is clear again and traffic is moving swiftly. Lee’s job is over.