He had made a fool of her already

There were reporters outside, in the driveway, but the house was locked, the curtains drawn, the blinds down, and one of Wallis's cousins was on the front porch with a 12-gauge shotgun. Reeva was fed up with the media. She had no comment. Sean Fordyce was holed up in a motel south of town fuming because she would not chat with him on camera. He had made a fool of her already. He reminded her of their agreement, of the signed contract, to which she responded, "Just sue me, Fordyce." Watching Robbie Flak, Reeva, for the first time, allowed herself to think the unthinkable. Was Drumm innocent? Had she spent the last nine years hating the wrong person? Had she watched the wrong man die? And what about the funeral? Now that her baby had been found, she would need to be properly buried. But the church was gone. Where would they have the funeral? Reeva wiped her face with a wet cloth and mumbled to herself. Eventually, Robbie moved on to the confession. Here he picked up steam and was consumed by a controlled rage. It was very effective. The courtroom was silent. Carlos projected a photo of Detective Drew Kerber, and Robbie announced with great drama, "And here is the principal architect of the wrongful conviction." Drew Kerber was watching, at the office. He had spent a horrible night at home. After leaving Judge Henry's, he had gone for a long drive and tried to imagine a happier ending to this nightmare. None appeared. Around midnight, he sat down with his wife at the kitchen table and bared his soul: the grave, the bones, the ID, the unmentionable idea that "evidently" they had nailed the wrong guy; Flak and his lawsuits and his threats of vigilante-style suing that would follow Kerber to his grave and the high probability of future unemployment, legal bills, and judgments. Kerber unloaded a mountain of grief upon his poor wife, but he did not tell the whole truth. Detective Kerber had never admitted, and he never would, that he had bullied Donte into confessing.