A-plot time again, and Calleigh's busy processing a convertible -- let's pretend we already knew that they were processing Mrs. Winters's car, so we don't have to go to the trouble of reiterating the key-information-introduced-at-the-last-minute rant. She finds pollen on the seat.
Cut to Mrs. Winters demanding to know why she's at the police station. Horatio more or less ignores her, musing, "Beautiful girl. Sad eyes though." We see a picture of Dara looking sad. Mrs. Winters asks, "What the hell is this?" Horatio says, "You were out there the night Dara died, weren't you?" Mrs. Winters denies this, but Horatio points out, "We found a very specific airborne pollen on the headrest of your car which would put you within fifty yards of where she took her last breath. She was running away from you, wasn't she? To Julie. She would go wherever Julie was, so you drove out there to bring her back, to bring her back to everything she was running away from, right?" Why Mrs. Winters lied about not knowing Julie is never brought up. What the hell kind of interrogation doesn't return to previous statements the subject made? Oh -- I know! An interrogation that's really an excuse for Horatio to perform a monologue. Mrs. Winters stares impassively, and we see the flashback: Dara wandering along the road clad only in a t-shirt and panties, her mother pulling up and stopping, shouting, "What have you done to your hair?" This precipitates an argument where Dara's saying she won't "do it anymore, I won't go back!" and her mother bellows, "You have no choice!" and it's your typical overheated confrontation that inevitably leads to physical violence, especially after Dara threatens, "I'm going to tell! I'm going to tell everyone!" Mom hauls off; Dara runs off, trips, and hits her head next to a leech-filled pond, and that's all she wrote. Horatio intones, "And then you left her there." Mrs. Winters points out, "I was expecting her to come home the next day." Horatio looks down his nose, and Mrs. Winters continues, "Dara was special. She was going places. Anyone could tell. But she was throwing it all away, and for what? A date at the mall? High school football on Friday nights? Some kind of average Briar Bay experience?" Horatio fixes his gaze into the middle distance and says dismissively, "To three quarters of the world, that sounds like a slice of heaven. She was running away from you because you made her home life hell." Mrs. Winters protests, "All I did was set up auditions. I was trying to help her to succeed."
Calleigh enters the room, and Horatio fixes on a different middle distance as he intones, "You were forcing her to market herself to get modeling jobs." Market? It looked like pandering from where I was sitting. It turns out Calleigh was bringing in the results from the print lab -- sure enough, it's Mrs. Winters's prints on the diaphragm. "'No choir girl ever made the A list' -- isn't that what you told her?" Calleigh asks. Mrs. Winters protests, "You don't understand." Calleigh says flatly, "No. I don't." Just then, Horatio smarms, "I told you that I would figure out who did this, didn't I?" Cue the horrified look on Mrs. Winters's face, while I try to figure out what "this" is, exactly, as the only thing Mrs. Winters is really guilty of -- aside from whoring her daughter -- is letting her kid go running off into the underbrush in the middle of the night. The circumstances that led to Dara's death -- the being rendered unconscious right near a leech-filled pond, the beer whipping the leeches into a feeding frenzy, and so on -- may have been precipitated by Dara's running from Mrs. Winters, but the woman did nothing to actively kill her daughter. How comforting to know that the Miami-Dade PD is capable of assessing the moral culpability of those people connected to a deeply weird and accidental death, and booking those folks on suspicion of offending Horatio or Calleigh's delicate sensibilities.