Yes, stick around and keep searching

You're already committing a crime by just being inside the house, you might as well make it count. Without wasting any more time you start meticulously dissecting every pile, every box, jacket or bag the way only you know how. You're fast, maybe the fastest in your business and that serves you well. You find a few things that should raise more than just an eyebrow's worth of suspicion. A couple bags of money in hard cash, too clean and unblemished to be earned honestly. Then there's an adress hastily scribbled on the back of a BOVIUM advert-pamphlet. You don't know the exact place, but you know the street. Bit of a back alley in town, next to the industrial district, a bunch of warehouses if you remember correctly.

And then there's the syringe. And then another and another and another. All neatly packaged in a little suitcase hastily shoved under the nightstand on what you can presume is George's side of the bed. It could be Bovium, but the color is off. You know the transformative is usually either blue, clear or pearly white. This one has a shade of rose to it, like strawberry yogurt mixed with too much liquid.
They're not labelled, but there is a lot of them and at least a handful have already been emptied. All of this stuff together? Now that's incriminating. You take a couple of pictures of everything and make a few notes before arranging everything as best as you can to look like you've never been here. Best not to arouse suspicion. Of course all of this takes time, something you always have preciously little of.

You're about done when you get to the suitcase. You wonder if George would miss one single ampule. And some horribly intrusive part of your brain asks the unwanted question of whether or not to mindlessly jam one of those needles into yourself