Dobey’s Discovery

Notes: Written for the 2023 SHareCon zine.

Dobey’s Discovery

Captain Harold Dobey sat at his desk ruminating over the latest case he had assigned to his crack detective team. He knew that Starsky and Hutch would hunt down some excellent leads, but their early attempts hadn’t been illuminating. Dobey was convinced that the answer was in front of them if they could only put the puzzle together.

It was late, far past time to go home. He had called his wife Edith and told her he would be home as soon as he could get away. He normally didn’t take such a personal interest in cases, but this one, a shooting over a drug deal gone bad, had killed the son of an elected official and there was pressure to solve it as quickly as possible. There was evidence in the form of bullets removed from the victim, shell casings, and potentially fingerprints on the bag containing the merchandise, which had been left at the scene as the shooter fled.

Was it gang-related? Did the shooter know the victim? Did the casings match the retrieved bullets? Were the fingerprints able to be lifted? Dobey stood, his head spinning with potential clues. He decided that a trip to the evidence room to look at the items might help sort things out, and hoped that additional evidence had been gathered to give him ideas.

Dobey opened his desk drawer, took out his keys and headed up the elevator to the evidence room, still pondering possibilities. When he reached the locked door to the room, he paused to look through his keys to select the right one. A thumping sound coming from the room startled him and broke his concentration.

It was 8 pm. The floor was deserted and the department was quiet except for the nighttime crew, housed on a floor below. What could be happening in the room and who could be in there after hours? He stopped jangling his keys and put his ear to the door to listen.

The thumping had stopped, but the next thing he heard was what sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Followed by steps that sounded like someone was chasing someone else. Next came a terse, hissing whisper that sounded to Dobey something like “Not here!”

His curiosity piqued, Dobey kept his ear to the door. The steps stopped and another thump was heard.

“Why not? There’s nobody here to give us a hard time.” Definitely a male voice, a wheedling baritone. And the way he pronounced “hard” – was that a Brooklyn accent?

“And a hard time is exactly what I’d like to give you right now. Hard and hot.”

Definitely a Brooklyn accent. Dobey rolled his eyes. So Starsky was trying to have some fun with his latest squeeze. He must know her well because his suggestion was …well, pretty lewd. Hopefully she was someone who had authorized access to the evidence room. Hanky-panky in that room or in the station at all was against regulation, but Dobey was willing to look the other way for one of his favorite hardworking detectives. He debated making noise to alert them to his presence, but the next sounds he heard stopped him in his tracks.

“C’mon, Starsk,” Another thump against the wall. Like someone was being pressed against it. “This is crazy. We could get discovered here. Let’s just do what we came to do here and go to my place. I’ll scramble some eggs for us and then we can get down and dirty.” Wet kissing sounds. “Anything you want, babe. I promise.”

That was a male voice. Higher than Starsky’s, but definitely male…and no one called Starsky “Starsk” except…

“Hutch, babe.” The tone was softer, but still urgent. “It makes it even hotter that we could be found out.” Rustling sounds, followed by more kissing. Of what, Dobey was too shocked to guess. “And we can still go back to your place for an encore.”

The growl of a zipper reached Dobey’s flattened ear. Dear God, please let that be a jacket. Should he leave? Should he stay? Should he guard the door? Should he go in and break it up? He stood riveted to the spot, curiosity overcoming the urge to flee.

After a short period of silence…

“Starsk, no…oh God…” That sounded like Hutch attempting to put up a feeble protest, but soon the moans that escaped him belied that intention.

A wet, smacking sound. Dobey could almost see Starsky’s feral grin as he heard the deep, husky baritone say, “You don’t really mean that, do you, Blondie? Seems to me you’re enjoying this.”

“Oh God, Starsk….what if…what if someone…” A gasp. “Oh fuck, yessssssss!”

That did it. Dobey unglued his burning ear from the door and fled.

Heart pounding, he found a bench in the hallway and sat down. So the rumors were true. Hutch and Starsky.

Thinking back over the years, his mind was filled with pictures of them. Tummy pats, butt pats, hugs, even holding hands and each other on occasion. And fierce devotion to each other. So close, even closer than he had been with his partner Elmo, God rest his soul. He loved Elmo—but not like that. He didn’t swing that way. But these two obviously did, and whatever they had between them made them the best detective team he had ever supervised. Plus, he loved them like sons. And they were good men. The best.

He didn’t understand that kind of attraction between them, and there were rules against romantic involvement between partners. But as he sat there in the hallway, his heartbeat returned to normal, and a smile slowly formed on his face.

Dobey rose and went into a nearby office. Rummaging through a drawer, he found some paper, a pen, and a piece of tape. His work done, he went back to his office, still smiling. Wait until I tell Edith, he thought. She knew all along.

A few minutes after Dobey left, a janitor wheeled his cart down the hallway. He fumbled with the keys to find the one to the evidence room to empty the trash. As he looked up to put the key in the door, he heard what he thought was movement inside, and saw a note taped there.

“ACCESS RESTRICTED. PLEASE SEE CAPTAIN DOBEY FOR APPROVAL.”

Shrugging, he put his keys back on his belt and headed down the hall to the next room.