"Leave this to me," Tom said as they got in the car. "Before I came here I worked in New York, I've got plenty of experience of getting Feds to give me a straight answer." He drove to the diner, where the car was still parked, and led her inside. Sat at a table near the window were two men, one reading a newspaper and one drinking a cup of coffee, both wearing clean, freshly pressed suits that made them stand out like a sore thumb. "You Feds need to work on your disguises if a small town cop like me can tell you're here."
"Detective, allow me to give you a piece of friendly advice," the man with the newspaper said. "If you don't want us to take this investigation out of your hands entirely you'll walk away now."
"Not gonna happen," Tom said, pulling up a chair and sitting at the table. "There's an unidentified creature running around killing young women and you guys are doing the worst surveillance job I've ever seen. I think you owe us answers."
"And what makes you think we owe you any answers?" the man with the coffee asked. Hidden under his chair was a bag, poking out of which was a large file with the word CLASSIFIED stamped in red ink across its top, next to a picture of the creatures face.