"Murder, not to put too fine a point on it."

Shelter:

"You sure?" he says. The light's back, and I can see his little brain working. He's thinking, this guy runs a hostel. Warm beds. Grub. It gets full. but if I'm with him, I'm in, right? "You sure?" he says. I gave him the smile again. "Sure. No prob. It's just round the corner."

And that's all there was to it. I strode out and he trotted at my heels like a ruddy poodle. It was pissing it down and he was sodden by the time he reached the flat. I introduced Sappho, showed him the bathroom, told him to strip off, threw in some stuff I'd got for the purpose - thick sweaters, cord trousers - the sort of stuff do-gooders wear - and went off to heat some tomato soup, and while he was sitting on the sofa scoffing it I slipped up behind him and put him out of his misery.

Cruel? I don't think so. He's neither cold nor hungry now. Nobody wanted him, so nobody will miss him, and there's one less dosser to clutter up the place.

Who loses?

Link:

You can call me Link. It's not my name, but it's what I say when anybody asks, which isn't often. I'm invisible, see? One of the invisible people. Right now, I'm sitting in a doorway watching the passers-by. They avoid looking at me. They're afraid I want something they've got, and they're right. Also, they don't want to think about me. They don't like reminding I exist. Me, and those like me. We're living proof that everything's not all right, and we make the place untidy.

Hang about and I'll tell you the story of my fascinating life.

In 1994, Children's author, Robert Swindells, wrote Stone Cold, a novel about a SERIAL KILLER who calls himself Shelter, and who prowls the streets of London killing all the homeless people he kind find - people like Link...

Buy it here (or borrow a copy from the English Dept stock room at school).
Read some reviews here.
Find out more about the author here.