"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."<br/><br/>"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."<br/><br/>"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."<br/><br/>"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<strong>CLASSIFIED</strong>stamped in red ink across its top, next to a picture of the creatures face.