Busted

The answer was: no one. Because far more than just being great fodder for reporters, in many ways Pulido is a near-perfect product of the kind of disease that has marred the BPD for years. There was the "blue wall of silence" that prevented the investigators from sharing any suspicions with the brass. There was the fact that early on in his law enforcement career, Pulido failed a test for cocaine, which earned him a 45-day suspension and a stint in a department-mandated drug treatment program, but didn't result in his termination. (Other departments take a zero-tolerance approach to drug crimes, but until very recently, again per the union contract, Boston cops could fail a test and only be subject to three years of random drug testing, all without losing their jobs.) Finally, the Pulido scandal underscored the need for the reforms proposed by Bob Hayden, in which cadets would be taught to expect and resist the temptations of the job—the trifecta of money, drugs, and women that ultimately brought down the officer.

Davis concedes that wiping out corruption altogether is near impossible, but says he's making progress. In the past year, he has issued executive orders and negotiated with union officials to make it harder for cops to keep their jobs after committing crimes. Now, officers who test positive for drugs are subject to random drug testing for the rest of their career. Shortly after Ortiz's record of six suspensions was revealed, Davis vowed to implement a "three strike" system, in which that number of disciplinary leaves automatically results in termination. After the Murphy debacle, he got the patrolmen's union to agree, on a case-by-case basis, to let him fire officers who are charged with domestic violence—even if they are not found guilty in court—should internal affairs be able to prove the allegations to its satisfaction.

For the most part, BPD command staff and Mayor Menino are backing Davis on the housecleaning (though there's still an element in the department resistant to the changes—some patrol cops privately call the do-gooding former Lowell cop "Opie," as in the character from The Andy Griffith Show). It's helped that Davis has pursued the changes with a savvy and focus that previous commissioners have lacked. He shows up at crime scenes, holds weekly command staff meetings, interacts with union officials without cajoling, and generally doesn't grandstand, which keeps the mayor happy. The more reform-minded officers are glad to have someone finally try to tackle departmental corruption. "He took Ortiz's badge, saying he was a disgrace to good cops," Mancini says. "I'm glad I got to see that." Davis, along with Superintendent-in-Chief Robert Dunford and internal affairs Superintendent Kenny Fong has adopted a phrase coined by former acting police Commissioner Al Goslin, who—during his brief stint running the department until Menino appointed Davis—initiated the investigation into the Three Amigos. Goslin would often say, "We can't be afraid to kick the bag" (the implication being "even if there is shit in it").

It's a mantra that will come in handy again soon. Assistant U.S. Attorney John McNeil has issued subpoenas to up to a dozen Boston police officers to appear in front of a grand jury convened to hear evidence on steroid abuse in the BPD. According to a source, three officers, one of them a homicide detective, were transferred after receiving their subpoenas. Two BPD sources, including one with direct knowledge of the investigation, confirmed the ongoing grand jury—where what went on in Pulido's Boom-Boom Room is also likely to be reexamined. And the fact that Pulido's sentencing, originally slated for February, has been pushed back is causing some in the department to wonder whether he is giving up other officers in return for a reduced punishment.

Such a purge is required of any large-scale reform effort, but it puts Davis in an awkward position. On one hand, rooting out corruption is what the department badly needs; on the other, the more instances that are unearthed, the further the department will fall in the public's regard. Balancing those two factors, while keeping morale high and the mayor satisfied, is a challenge, to say the least. Sitting in a stiff-backed wooden chair in his office at police headquarters in Roxbury, Davis leans his large frame back and takes a breath. "It's not like I came in here as a crusader," he says. But if he wasn't before, he is now.