"Why did you kill him?" she asked, her tone stern. The man looked down at the ground, refusing to meet her eyes. "He...he was going to expose my embezzlement," he said, his voice barely audible. LaBlanche knew that she had uncovered the motive for the murder. The man had killed her husband to cover up his own crime. "You're going to pay for what you did," LaBlanche said, her voice filled with anger. The man looked up at her, his eyes filled with fear. "Please, don't turn me in," he begged. LaBlanche shook her head. "I have no choice," she said. "You killed my husband, and you have to take responsibility for your actions." She pulled out her phone and dialed the police. While waiting for them to arrive, she kept the man at bay, making sure he didn't try to flee. As she stood there, watching him with a mixture of anger and sadness, she couldn't help but think about her husband. She missed him terribly and wished he was still here. Finally, the police arrived, and LaBlanche handed the murderer over to them. She watched as they escorted him out of the house, his head hung low in shame. She knew that he would spend the rest of his life in prison, paying for the crimes he had committed. As LaBlanche stood in the empty study, she felt a sense of closure wash over her. She had solved her husband's murder and brought the killer to justice. She knew that it would take time to heal from this tragedy, but she was grateful for the closure she now had. LaBlanche walked out of the study and closed the door, knowing her life wouldn't be the same again and she was gonna have to make her peace with that.

LaBlanche, an intrepid detective with an eagle eye for detail, returned home late one night. She had been out on a case all day, and all she could think about was pouring herself a glass of wine, and curling up with a good book. But as she opened the door, something felt off. The house was too quiet, too still. LaBlanche had been in many dangerous situations in her life, but she had never been quite so scared as she was in that moment. She crept through the house, slowly making her way to the study, where she knew her husband was meant to be. To her shock, she found him lying on the floor, motionless. For a moment, LaBlanche couldn't move. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. He had been murdered, she realized. With a trembling hand, she reached for the phone and dialed the police. When the officers arrived, they brought LaBlanche in for questioning. She gave her statement, but despite her best efforts, she could not provide them with any leads. For hours, the detectives interrogated her, trying to discover any hidden clues that would lead them to the killer. But LaBlanche had nothing to give them, and eventually they let her go with a warning. She stepped out of the police station with a sense of determination. She would not rest until the killer was caught and brought to justice. She knew that she had to act fast, as time was running out. She had to find out who had done this, before they struck again. LaBlanche set out to investigate the murder on her own. She retraced her steps, thinking of all the people her husband had met in the days leading up to his death. She visited his work, talked to his colleagues and friends, and went through his emails and messages. But she could not find any clues that would lead her to the killer. One night, as LaBlanche lay in bed, she heard a strange noise coming from the study. She got up and crept towards the room, her heart pounding in her chest. As she got closer, she could hear footsteps coming from inside. With trembling hands, she pushed the door open and stepped inside. To her surprise, she found a man standing there, rifling through her husband's desk. He looked up as she walked in, his eyes widening in surprise. LaBlanche recognized him as one of her husband's colleagues, a man who had always seemed a bit too interested in their personal lives. "What are you doing here?" she demanded. The man hesitated, then stammered, "I was just looking for some papers that I left here earlier." LaBlanche knew he was lying. She took a step closer, her eyes fixed on his face. Suddenly, she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes. She knew then that he had murdered her husband. She just had to gather enough evidence to prove it.LaBlanche's mind raced with a million thoughts all at once. She had to keep the man at bay while she searched the room for any evidence that would confirm her suspicions. She took a step closer to him, her gaze still fixed on his face. "What do you mean you left some papers here earlier?" she asked him. "And why are you so afraid?" "I...I left some important documents here earlier," he said, his voice shaking. "I needed to come back and get them." LaBlanche didn't believe him. She knew he was lying. She continued to edge closer to him, looking for any sign of a struggle. And then she saw it - a small cut on the man's hand, barely visible in the dim light. "What happened to your hand?" she asked him.The man tried to hide his hand behind his back, but it was too late. LaBlanche had seen it. She took another step closer, and this time, the man stepped back. "I...I cut it on a broken glass earlier," he stammered. "It's nothing." LaBlanche didn't believe him. She knew that the cut on his hand was a sign of a struggle, that he had fought with her husband before killing him. "Show me your hand," she demanded, taking another step forward. The man hesitated, then slowly held out his hand. LaBlanche saw that the cut was deep, and still bleeding. She knew that she had found her evidence. "You killed him, didn't you?" she said, her voice low and menacing. The man looked at her, his face pale with fear. "I...I didn't mean to," he said.LaBlanche knew that this was just an excuse. She could see the guilt in the man's eyes and knew that he was lying once again. She had to make him confess. (CONTINUATION IN NEXT POST)