Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [57]
His wife touched his hand and said, “Please, Seymour, it doesn’t help
“Excuse me,” Mr. Goldberg said, using the tabletop for leverage as he stood unsteadily and shuffled off in the direction of the restrooms.
“I know how difficult this is for both of you,” Berry said.
“You must forgive Seymour,” his wife said. “He had such hopes for Charise. We both did. It has not been easy for him to support her career. He has worked as a tailor all his life, worked hard, and always found the money for her university and the private lessons
“Was Charise your only child?” Berry asked.
“Yes
Berry was pleased that the conversation, in Seymour’s absence, had turned to something less grim for the moment than the murder of their daughter. He’d graduated with a degree in Sociology and had always been fascinated with the way people lived their lives, the decisions they made, and the paths and many detours their journeys took through this temporary life. That was one of the reasons he’d become a cop. It offered a unique and rich vantage point from which to indulge his interest in the human condition.
“You say he’s a tailor. Does he still do that for a living?”
“No, I’m afraid not. You noticed his hands. Arthritis. He can no longer work with needle and thread. We have a small launderette in Toronto.” She smiled. “I was working in a laundry when we met. I think Seymour thought it was appropriate for a Chinese woman to be doing laundry
Berry joined her gentle laugh. “A little typecasting, huh?”
She nodded.
Goldberg returned and resumed his place at the table.
“Tell me more about Christopher Warren and the two agents,” Berry said.
Charise’s mother supplied, “Charise said it was important for an opera singer to have an agent. She said it would open doors for her, doors she herself could not open
Her husband started to speak, but his wife added, “Besides, Mr. Melincamp made it possible for Charise to come here to study. He has been paying for where she stayed with Christopher
“How did she get along with them,” Berry asked, “the agents and Christopher Warren?”
“We don’t know,” Seymour said.
Berry’s eyebrows went up. “She never confided in you about them and her relationship with them?”
Husband and wife exchanged a nervous glance before she said, “Charise has been estranged from us for some time
“Over what?” Berry asked.
“She wouldn’t listen to us,” Seymour said, his voice taking on sudden strength. “She was headstrong
“Like young women these days,” his wife defended.
“I know what it’s like out there in the world,” Seymour said, the weary tone having returned. “I didn’t want her ending up taking in other people’s dirty laundry, their soiled underwear and smelly socks. I told her what it takes to succeed, but she had her own notions
Berry sympathized with the older man, but wondered whether he’d been too heavy-handed with his only child and pushed her away. It happened, he knew. His own father, a college professor, had been furious when his son announced he intended to go into law enforcement after four successful years in college, and had basically shut down communication between them for the two years before his father died one afternoon of a massive heart attack while lecturing a classroom full of students. Their rift should have been healed, but it was too late for that now. His relationship with his aging mother, while long distance, was good, and he worked hard at keeping it that way.
He checked his watch. It had been an interesting meeting, but nothing tangible had resulted that would aid in the murder investigation.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you can tell me about people in your daughter’s life that might shed light on her death?” he asked.
“Something like whether Warren or the agents might have had a reason to kill her?” Goldberg asked.
“Yes,” Berry said.
Husband and wife looked at each other.
“That couldn’t be,” the mother said.
“Couldn’t be?” Berry said.
“They would not have